


how the flowers rise and open

by gaywitches



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, enemies to lovers to a total shit show, everyone is a hot mess, fighting like morons, give it a try it is honestly so sweet in the end, impossible to categorise, lily is a SHAMBLES, narcissa is a nightmare but so soft, non-canon because there's no kids and no death, oodles and oodles of fluff/nonsense, sirius is a lovable dick, the storyline is AU but set in the same world, tw: mentions of domestic abuse but you don't see anything directly only the aftermath
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:09:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28534197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaywitches/pseuds/gaywitches
Summary: "Despite the sneaking around and the urgency that serve as constant reminders that this isforbidden,clandestine, there’s no denying the quiet domesticity that creeps in at the edges. That somehow plunges straight through Lily’s chest and grabs her heart with both fists making herwant,andwant,andwant,refusing to let go no matter how hard she tries to dig it out.But,hey,things could be worse. At least she’s not in love with her.Things are totally under control, and not at all likely to blow up in her face at any moment."Lily is a smitten idiot, Narcissa is a complicated mess, and things are about as shambolic and sweet as trying to eat a sticky toffee pudding with no hands.
Relationships: Narcissa Black Malfoy/Lily Evans Potter
Comments: 24
Kudos: 50





	1. the white fire of a great mystery

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Moccasin Flowers by Mary Oliver and the chapter titles also come from her poems.
> 
> The character descriptions are modelled off their portrayals in the movies (namely, after Helen McCrory and Geraldine Somerville). I just want to make that clear before I get any comments about their eye colour etc. being wrong. :')
> 
> I don’t generally write about affairs but JKR made everyone so painfully straight that I had to. Plus, Lucius is a bastard in this fic so it is what it is.
> 
> As noted in the tags, this story is AU but set in the same general world. :)
> 
> The tone of the story is tongue in cheek because it mainly focuses on Lily's perspective and that's how I imagine her. I don't take the topic of domestic violence lightly, however, and I've done my best to treat that element of the fic with sensitivity. 
> 
> All of that being said, I hope you enjoy! I'm very nervous about sharing so please drop me a comment and let me know if there's any bits that you especially like or even if you just want to say hi! I read and reply to all of them and I would love to hear your thoughts.
> 
> (I've broken what _was_ going to be the third chapter into three separate chapters just for ease of reading because it was so long, but they can be taken as one chapter.)

Somewhere at the back of Lily’s consciousness, she hears the sound of howling wind smashing against a window pane. Given the horrendous snowstorm raging outside, it should probably register as more than just a vague noise, but her senses are currently otherwise occupied with far more important things. 

Twin sets of legs move against each other under satin sheets, overlapping like petals. The image might ordinarily be sappy enough to make Lily scold herself, but she’s too content to give it much thought. 

Narcissa’s voice is husky and a little raspy from their recent activities when it unfurls between them. 

“I can’t believe you actually told Vernon you could lend him a book on how to give a woman an orgasm. Especially with your parents at the table.” One of her fingers runs across Lily’s clavicle and dips into the hollow behind with a delicate flourish. 

To be honest, it hadn’t been Lily’s finest moment if her parents’ faces were anything to go by, but Narcissa’s smiling reaction makes it worthwhile. For once, her blithe disregard for decency has its merits.

“I couldn’t just sit idly by and let some toad shrink-wrapped into a suit jacket grill me about my life choices, could I? He was being an oaf.” Lily tuts petulantly, pulling Narcissa tighter. “And anyway, I thought I was doing Petunia a favour. I didn’t expect her to throw a perfectly good cup of tea over me.”

Narcissa chuckles, pressing her lips against Lily’s chin. It’s unclear whether it was her intended target because she’s laughing so much that she seems a little off balance, but it somehow makes the action even more pleasing to Lily. “You’re incorrigible, Lily Evans. What am I going to do with you?”

 _Good question._

Lily pokes Narcissa in the ribs. It’s playful, almost juvenile, but Narcissa just shakes her head. “Well, what would you have said?”

Narcissa’s lips pucker and she tips her head to the side, squinting seriously as if considering her options. “Nothing. I would simply have hexed his tongue into a suitably tight knot to prevent further lectures.” 

Lily howls at that, tears leaking out from the edges of her eyes. She shoves Narcissa’s shoulders before wrapping her arms around them. “You would not.” 

Dark irises glitter as Narcissa regards her with a wry smile. They look like caramelised honey in the lamplight. “I might have. I would certainly have bent back Petunia’s fingers when she came at you.”

The earnest statement brings a lump to Lily’s throat that she tries in vain to swallow. “A witch in shining armour,” Lily grins, kissing the corner of Narcissa’s mouth. She hopes the other woman chalks up her brimming tears to her earlier giggling fit. “I wish you could have been there.”

It’s a bold sentiment that slips past before Lily has chance to filter it out, to toss it as far as her abysmal throwing abilities will allow. _Good one, Evans._ For an intelligent woman, she sure lacks common sense. _A real bloody shambles._ Her heart cartwheels in her chest.

Static travels over the places where skin meets skin as Lily waits for imminent rejection. For the moment that her teeth slide down to her stomach and start chewing their way out.

Narcissa tilts her head and grazes her thumb over Lily’s cheek. “Me, too.” It’s spoken so softly that Lily forgets to breathe, a fact that she only discovers when her lungs start to scream in protest. Her eyelashes are suspiciously wet again. _Damn it._

“Perhaps, one day,” Lily whispers, practically choking on the words as they crawl out ill-formed and unchecked, the syllables limping into an existence that they are not prepared for. Apparently, Lily’s capacity to pass for anything other than a blithering idiot was pulverised somewhere along the way. _For the love of god,_ she needs to learn to quit while she’s ahead.

A dull cloud hangs between them like old lace. “Perhaps,” Narcissa replies quietly, though this time her eyes are vacant as they drop to her hands on Lily’s breastbone. There’s no hope of her attending an Evans family dinner with Malfoy’s ring sullying her finger.

The _only_ remotely beneficial part about Narcissa being a Malfoy is that they can meet like this, undetected and undisturbed, at one of the estate’s various properties. It still doesn’t make Lily want to saw off the name and jam it as far away as possible from the woman beside her any less. 

Trying to lighten the atmosphere, Lily mumbles something that is by no means coherent. The tactic seems to work because Narcissa tips forwards, laughing against Lily’s neck, the brush of her lips sending shivers of electricity through Lily’s still cooling body. Every sweep of her mouth feels like the sizzle of water hitting a blistering skillet.

Far too soon, Narcissa sighs, tucking a few red waves behind Lily’s ear. She slips upright, winding her fingers around the nape of Lily’s neck and tugging her forwards for a gentle kiss. 

_Fuck._ After all this time, kissing Narcissa still feels like she’s been drowning for years, trapped beneath oceans of water, and Narcissa’s needy gasps and hoarse, breathy moans are mouthfuls of air. She tastes like magic. Real, glittering magic, ancient and fresh and ever-splendid.

Lily weaves her arms around Narcissa’s narrow hips, attempting to hold her for as long as she can before the inevitable. She’s knows what’s coming, but it leaves a sinking feeling in her chest just the same.

The loss is immediate when Narcissa breaks away with a tiny whimper, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Lily pulls the covers high against her midriff, trying to wrestle back some semblance of thought. _A failed endeavour._

“We should head back. Lucius will be returning from the Ministry soon and I need to be there when he gets home.”

Out of everything that she says, the word _‘home’_ is somehow the most ill-fitting, a fact that should surprise Lily, but doesn’t. There’s no scope to think about it anyway because the barely concealed meaning that flickers peripherally around what Narcissa voices is so plain that it twists Lily’s stomach. Narcissa needs to be there when he gets home _or he will be angry._ That fucking brute expects his wife to be at his beck and call, crawling at his feet and licking his boots. It’s _disgusting._

“I’m surprised that bonehead has enough brain function to hold down a job,” Lily huffs, her tone dripping with venom. She folds her arms, gritting her teeth. Her jaw aches from the pressure but frustration is part and parcel of this whole debacle. It’s better than losing Narcissa. Better than _emptiness._

Narcissa chuckles at Lily’s scowl, regarding her with a fond expression. Her eyes are soft and the easy bloom of her smile is so beautiful that Lily wants to cry. She needs to get a lid on her pesky feelings, _pronto._

“Now, now, darling, no need to be jealous.” Narcissa runs her thumb over Lily’s bottom lip, which juts forwards in an exaggerated fashion. She laughs again, and it sends warmth to every one of Lily’s organs. Not to be outdone, Lily captures the roving digit between her teeth, biting down. A dismal attempt at stalling, but it does the trick. She feels victorious as delight flashes across Narcissa’s eyes, and she’s graced by her coquettish little smile.

“I am _not_ jealous of some pathetic coward who doesn’t even have the good sense to worship the most heavenly creature in all of existence, thank you very much,” Lily scoffs, flopping back against the mattress. _Slick. Definitely believable._

Her view is obscured by the rumpled covers but she just about manages to catch the radiant blush that spreads across Narcissa’s cheeks and the grin that flutters at the corners of her mouth. The way that the colour contrasts against the peach slip that she’s wearing is so nice that it’s ridiculous.

“I see,” Narcissa replies, with an annoying lilt that makes it crystal clear that she knows she’s right. _As bloody usual._ Lily sticks out her tongue in the most childish, overly dramatic way that she can muster. _God,_ she is a dopey _mess._

Narcissa rolls her eyes. “Lily, please stop dithering. We don’t have much time.” 

True as that may be, Narcissa bends to press an open kiss against Lily’s bare shoulder before sauntering off. The redhead grumbles, retrieving her skirt and pulling it over her thighs. Imprints of ruby red lipstick are scattered across her pale skin like rouge blossom and the sight thrills her. She feels like a painting, brought to life by Narcissa’s touch.

 _“Lily.”_

_Shit,_ so she’s not great at this whole need-for-speed thing, but how is she to blame when Narcissa is so damn pretty that it’s impossible to concentrate? Expecting otherwise is just unrealistic.

There’s the loud sound of a zipper being drawn along with a few curse words as Lily begrudgingly attempts to pick up the pace. Narcissa turns with an emphatic sigh, standing in front of the bureau, her knuckles setting to work hastily on the fastenings of her own dress. 

Lily genuinely is trying to be at least _moderately_ swift but she can’t help pausing to admire the other woman. She watches as elegant fingers dance the length of Narcissa’s spine like nimble ballerinas performing Swan Lake. Every detail of her hands as they move quickens Lily’s heartbeat. The exquisite arches, the sinewy ligaments appearing like cresting waves, the snug stretch of skin next to her thumb - it’s like viewing art in motion. 

_Okay, so she’s screwed._

She opts for sass in an attempt to get her mind back on the rails long enough to cover her upper half. “What will you do when you get back anyway? Scurry around polishing silverware and arranging your next ghastly soirée?”

Lily’s attention really should be on the buttons of her blouse, which she’s successfully done up into an uneven disaster, but she’s too focused on the curve of Narcissa’s waist. _Excellent._ But _holy hell,_ that woman is a risk to public health. Lily's feeble mind sputters and starts, clanging around inside her skull like a rickety engine that is never going to make it to a mechanic. _She’s a write off._

Narcissa doesn’t even bother to face her, though Lily can see her in the mirror. “How I choose to spend my day is none of your business, Miss Evans.” Her signature sternness isn’t very convincing when she’s only partially clothed, with mussed hair, deliciously swollen lips and heavy-lidded, hazy eyes. Not to mention the fact that there’s so much lipstick smudged around her mouth that it could probably start its own cosmetics line. _Merlin, she’s gorgeous._

She’s also completely bloody _infuriating,_ and the worst part is that Lily loves every minute. Every second. Because underneath it all is something different, something that Lily never anticipated when this train wreck began. It’s not just smouldering heat and a frenzied bang against the stair rails whenever they can steal an hour anymore. Not that it ever really was, for Lily at least.

Despite the sneaking around and the urgency that serve as constant reminders that this is _forbidden,_ clandestine, there’s no denying the quiet domesticity that creeps in at the edges. That somehow plunges straight through Lily’s chest and grabs her heart with both fists making her _want,_ and _want,_ and _want,_ refusing to let go no matter how hard she tries to dig it out. 

But, _hey,_ things could be worse. At least she’s not in love with her.

Things are totally under control, and not at all likely to blow up in her face at any moment.

Seemingly unaware of Lily’s turbulent inner monologue, Narcissa busies herself in the mirror, attempting to coax the crime scene around her lips into something halfway acceptable. “Besides,” Narcissa adds, smoothing around the corner of her mouth with her thumb, “I seem to recall that you rather enjoyed my last _ghastly soirée,_ so you can take your snide remarks elsewhere.” She looks way too damn pleased with herself. Lily snorts, combing her fingers through her hair. 

She’s not sure what she expected going into this, other than maybe getting her head bitten off praying-mantis-style after their first encounter, but the reality is far more tangled.

The veneer Narcissa presents may be hard as granite, but it’s just that - a veneer. Others would be forgiven for mistaking her as austere and callous, but it’s far from the truth. Beneath her harsh exterior is _Narcissa,_ the most complicated, intoxicating, _remarkable_ person that Lily has ever met. And she’s inexplicably _sweet,_ though Narcissa would probably die at that assessment.

The woman she knows doesn’t give a shit about purity or bloodlines, or anything else that she pretends to support. She didn’t even care who won the war, though she’d confessed to Lily once, after one too many glasses of wine hummed in her veins, that she knew she was on the wrong side. 

What she wants is security, assurance, the promise of tomorrow. When it boils down to it, Narcissa is afraid, and more than that, she’s _afraid_ of being afraid. Lily’s heart clenches acutely at the thought.

Narcissa’s eyes are so haunted sometimes that they remind her of an animal caught in a snare. Marrying a Malfoy had been her ticket out of a house filled with constant criticism and wicked, vicious discipline, had offered financial stability and status, delivered with just the right lines. And she’d hoped that it might be enough.

It had only made Narcissa more miserable than ever, trapped her into a whole new set of expectations and led to a chain of mistakes that seem impossible to rectify. She’s been conditioned by Lucius to be two-dimensional, surface only, which rips at Lily’s gut because there’s so much depth to her and it’s unthinkable that she should have to hide it away. 

She’s learned, dutifully, to play to part of hostess, follower, anything to ensure her survival, but it’s a costly performance and the price is heartbreaking. Sadistic. _Fucking devastating._

Lily gets the impression that Narcissa is running for her life at all times, trying to keep her head above the water even as weeds drag at her ankles.

These borrowed moments of bliss are Narcissa’s escape from it all, her _‘slices of paradise’_ , she calls them, and Lily loves that she can give them to her, no matter how fleeting. No matter how fragile this dream might prove to be or how likely the bubble is to pop at the prick of a pin. No matter the damage to her own heart.

“I think you’ll find your coy little charade won’t work on me, Mrs Malfoy.” Even as the name lumbers out of her mouth it burns her tongue in a way that it absolutely shouldn’t, absolutely _mustn’t._ But it tastes bitter and pithy, and she can’t help the frantic need to erase the _wrongness_ that it stirs inside her. She _is_ jealous, and it coils around her ribs, insistent and searing. Lucius might be getting about as much action as Lily’s ironing board but that provides little comfort.

 _“Narcissa,”_ she corrects with a whisper, rather less harshly. With rather more unguarded adoration. 

Narcissa offers a dreamy, half-smile that nearly undoes her, nearly has her grabbing fistfuls of dark green velvet between her fingers until nothing remains in the room but a blur of limbs.

It appears that Narcissa must have a similar idea, though she is more controlled than Lily. To be fair, an unchaperoned Rubeus at a Creatures convention is probably more controlled than Lily, but it’s hardly her fault that Narcissa is so fucking irresistible. If anything, she needs an award for managing to refrain from kissing her every minute of the day.

With a hum, Narcissa winds her arms around Lily’s neck, pressing the lengths of their bodies together. Lily can feel the stretch of toned muscles against her stomach, the soft swell of flesh against her chest, and it’s so perfectly _right_ that she forgets why this was ever a bad idea in the first place.

And honestly, _was it?_ Despite it all, Lily can’t help but think otherwise.

“I’ll have you know that I’m rather good at polishing. It’s really very simple,” Narcissa husks, licking at Lily’s pulse point and nipping at her flesh. “I just pay special attention to the areas that need it the most. Some spots require a lot of _friction_ but I find that my fingers can be very persuasive.”

_Fuck._

White specks cloud Lily’s vision and everything feels extremely hot. Narcissa’s tongue might be a felony offence but she’ll happily do a stint in Azkaban if that’s the trade off. That mouth is so audaciously tempting that Lily can’t do anything but melt against it.

They are cutting it fine, Lily thinks loosely, somewhere in her addled mind, though hopefully Narcissa has factored in enough of a buffer to allow for this lapse in judgment. She’s clever like that, which Lily is grateful for because she lost all grip on logic months ago.

“Making even chores sound dirty,” Lily chuckles, offering her trademark goofy smile before bumping their lips together. “That’s my girl.” 

Narcissa inhales sharply and drops her arms. Lily blushes immediately, stepping back, her hands hanging awkwardly at her sides. Her heart thuds and thuds in her chest at the slip, the overstep, the idiotic mutiny of her own thoughts. Narcissa _isn’t_ hers, will _never_ be hers. 

It’s an agony so familiar that it’s almost greeted as an old friend. Somewhere along the way the pain dried, like a layer of worn paint flaking off a wall. Like blood rusting against metal. 

Narcissa doesn’t look Lily in the eye but she moves forwards, kissing the spot behind Lily’s ear that makes her shudder. She nudges her nose against the skin of Lily’s neck and gentle fingers press against her sternum.

 _“Yes,”_ Lily hears, though it is so quiet that she might have imagined it. Narcissa must be responding to the first part, because Lily is unable to even hope for the second. Regardless, the moment is so intimate, so far removed from a flash of passion, that Lily’s eyes sting.

Narcissa seals a scorching kiss against the base of Lily’s throat, purring like a satisfied cat at the strangled moan that it drags from Lily’s lungs. The persistent pressure is sure to leave a blemish and Lily prays that it does. 

They’ve never marked each other before, it’s too risky, but Lily wants to wear Narcissa’s smirking lips on her skin forever. Wants to point out the brand to anyone who so much as glances in her direction to let them know that she’s indisputably taken. Even though she’s _not._ Even though that’s not what _this_ means.

As much as she longs to believe otherwise, Lily knows that it must be unconscious on Narcissa's end because maintaining their secret is critical to her facade. To keeping up appearances. To her _awful_ fucking marriage.

Lily hates Lucius. Hates him more than anyone she’s ever met, and the worst part is that Narcissa does, too. He parades her around like a trophy or a trinket, pretty to look at on his arm and lucrative to own. Lily doubts that he’s ever taken the time to learn anything about her, which is despicable. She makes a mental note to ask Remus if he knows a guy who knows a guy, who might just be amenable to shattering some kneecaps.

There’s not a single inch of Narcissa that Lily doesn’t want to know, to memorise, to become so intimately acquainted with that their souls are indistinguishable. She deflates slightly, trying to stop her treacherous heart from leaking out.

Narcissa frowns, a line forming between her eyebrows as she feels Lily tense in her arms. “What’s the matter, darling?” The words vibrate through Lily’s body and she shivers.

“Nothing. I’m just...” She trails off, dropping her head and shaking it. She bites at her bottom lip, cursing the liquid that is pooling at her eyelashes. “He doesn’t _deserve_ you.” A lone tear drips from Lily’s cheek onto Narcissa’s neck.

Usually, when Lily’s involved, things have a habit of going pear-shaped and this is no exception. Tact has never been her strong suit.

“What?” Narcissa’s voice hitches, a dangerous note lacing her tone. Her eyes are pitch black.

Only a fool would continue, but apparently Lily is exactly that. “It’s fucking _terrible._ He doesn’t love you and you know it. You deserve so much better than to be treated like some kind of convenient cardboard cutout that he can hack at with scissors to fit his sick little narrative.”

Lily must hit a nerve because Narcissa winces, her mouth pinching into a tight line. She wrenches herself out of Lily’s arms, her eyes heavy with something that Lily can’t pinpoint. Weariness, _probably._ Anger, _definitely._ Yet there's something else as well, something much harder to identify that sinks into Lily’s flesh. Whatever it is spells trouble, of that she is sure.

“How dare you presume to have the faintest idea about my life?” Narcissa’s hands are bearing down so forcefully on her elbows as she hugs herself that they must be cutting off the circulation because her forearms are growing ruddy.

 _“Really?”_ Lily barks, with more hostility than she intends. “Maybe because I actually give a damn, unlike your bastard husband. I mean, _seriously,_ could you have picked a bigger numbskull?”

Narcissa’s eyes glimmer, almost with amusement, as if she’s poised to reply with something that Lily suspects features her as the punchline. Her expression sharpens, however, and she stares blankly once again. 

“You seem to have it all figured out. What do you suggest that I do? Please enlighten me,” Narcissa asks tartly, her nostrils flaring. Her foot taps impatiently on the floor, just once, but it’s enough to highlight her agitation. 

“You need to leave him.” _Damn it,_ where did that come from?

Lily knows as soon as the words escape her mouth that they are a mistake. That she’s bypassed a _‘Do Not Cross’_ sign and flung herself directly into the path of a speeding train. Clearly she swigged some Veritaserum during the course of this conversation because it’s the only explanation for her appallingly stupid lack of restraint. But _fuck it,_ it’s too late to do anything other than see where the crash takes her.

The muscle in Narcissa’s jaw twitches and she goes very still. She looks away, looks down, gnawing at her lip until blood blooms against her teeth. Despair trails across her cheeks like a dark cloak.

“I _can’t._ You _know_ that,” Narcissa hisses, her voice clunky and mechanical. Her fingers loosen their death grip and she wrings them in front of her.

“Do I? What’s the alternative? Continue to live some Stepford nightmare until you lose yourself completely? Dangle like a puppet until your strings snap?” Lily’s skin is on fire as she watches the colour drain from Narcissa’s face. “Stop worrying about what everyone else thinks and do something for you for once in your bloody life.”

For one awful second, Narcissa looks like she might burst into tears, but the expression disappears as quickly as it came. Her black eyes bore holes against Lily’s face, though there’s a hollowness behind them as if she’s not really there. 

“I made a _vow,_ ” she whispers, so quietly and brokenly that Lily wants to gather her into her arms and never let go.

Lily can see the tendons straining against the skin of her neck and scarlet nails digging into the tops of her palms, almost definitely slicing into her flesh. Her knuckles are absolutely white. Lily wants to press kisses against them, to peel the fingers open and fill them with nothing but sunlight. She wants to tell Narcissa that she’s not alone, that she’s _never_ alone, that she’ll be by her side for as long as she’ll have her. 

But Lily feels her own ragged sense of betrayal rising up in her throat. Her heart aches with the terror of coming so close to revealing the things that she deliberately keeps buried in her chest, and she can’t help but lash out for some kind of twisted relief. _Maturity at its finest._

“Ah, yes. And what an _excellent_ job you’ve done at keeping it so far.”

Lily has never hated herself more than she does right now. The words taste like vomit on her tongue and she nearly gags. It’s a cruel thing to say, _hideous,_ and regret claws painful and sharp at the back of her mouth. She can’t stop the tears that rush up behind her eyelids at the sight of Narcissa’s wounded expression, and the guilt of causing it is fucking unbearable.

Narcissa stiffens, the column of her spine fixing into an impossibly straight line. Her face is once again drawn into a practiced mask of schooled indifference that gives nothing away. This exchange is tantamount to the whiplash that happens after neglecting to brace before using floo powder. _Moronic. Poorly executed._

“Hurry up and get out. I don’t have time for this.” The voice that slithers out is so acerbic that Lily has to catch herself on the table in front of her to break her fall. Narcissa’s barbed tongue is back in action, just as Lily expects, its razorblades ripping at the flimsy web of sweetness that they’ve spun between them. 

Only it’s proven, repeatedly, not to be so flimsy after all, withstanding whatever they throw at it, time after time. Which is, quite frankly, so baffling that it’s almost ludicrous. Still, this hurts like _hell._

Lily laughs contemptuously, as if a smirk can somehow conceal the fact that dozens of stubborn tears have dripped onto the front of her blouse. “Gladly.” She snatches her jacket off the back of a chair near the window and storms out, slamming the door behind her.

_That bloody woman._

She doesn’t mean it. Neither of them means it, Lily is well aware. It’s nothing new, this mess that they’ve made. They’ve been here one too many times to believe that it’s over, but this particular blade cuts deep.

Because, yes, it may have started as a meaningless fling, destined to burn out into ashes before it even began. But somehow, this ill-fated tryst, this illicit sin that can only end in heartbreak, has become the best thing in Lily’s life. The most precious.

Apparently whatever demonic entity is responsible for running the universe has a _horrible_ sense of humour.

Lily will do anything, _anything,_ to be with Narcissa, no matter how poorly it ends, no matter the cost. Because this, whatever _this_ is, is worth it. _Narcissa_ is worth it.

_She is totally fucked._


	2. a luminous doom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive Sirius for being an insensitive jerk. He's just an idiot, he doesn't mean it.

It’s been days. Six days, to be precise, which is exactly six days longer than a reconciliation generally takes. They’re old hat at this. Usually, within the hour, Narcissa is at Lily’s door, haughty and irritating as ever, informing her that she has no intention of bringing things to a close.

It might not be the romantic declaration that movies are made of, but for Lily it’s enough. Enough to know that Narcissa wants her, can’t give her up, will risk the perfect house of cards that she’s painstakingly built just to get her fix of whatever _this_ is. Enough to see Narcissa’s lips curling up just for her.

Narcissa still hasn’t come, however, and Lily is growing more and more anxious by the day. Something gnaws at the pit of her stomach, acrid and violent, refusing to relent. 

At first, Lily worries that she might have pushed things too far, might have made everything too real for Narcissa and broken things beyond repair. She never did know when to mind her own goddamn business, although Narcissa _is_ her business, whether she likes it or not. 

She hadn’t meant for her words to sound like an ultimatum. Hadn’t meant to say them at all, for that matter, but they had forced their way out, shrieking like her first howler. Part of her is terrified that Narcissa might have taken them as such and finally had the presence of mind to reach a crushing decision.

Still, she can’t shake the feeling that this is something else. For all her faults, Narcissa is no coward and Lily can’t imagine that she’d be gutless enough to cut and run.

There’s something wrong.

She sends Narcissa another text. A simple ‘*’. It’s their little system - no names saved, no words. Just asterisks, exchanged back and forth, because Narcissa insists that they look like tiny flowers. _Like them._ Only now her screen is just a wall of unanswered messages. All unread. 

There’s something _wrong._

Fear twines up her spine. She sets to work making a pot of tea but all of her movements are clumsy. She’s smashed two cups so far, chipped a third, and spilled the entire contents of the honey jar into a fourth. So tea is off the menu.

Her dressing gown is stained with god-knows-how-many substances because she just can’t keep her damn hands steady. The emotions doing a number on her nerves are not helped by the cat that she feels like she _recognises_ that seems to be having a staring contest with her through the kitchen window. _Ideal._ A sure sign that she’s going bonkers.

Admittedly, this is not quite the picture that she’d imagined for her mid-thirties. Already divorced and involved in a sordid affair with a member of Slytherin’s royalty who she’s supposed to hate. Her parents must be so proud, not that they know about the latter. Not that anyone does.

Only these days, it feels like there’s nothing ‘sordid’ about it. There’s no guilt anymore, at least from Lily’s perspective, because how can something so absolutely euphoric be anything but right?

Sometimes they don’t tumble into bed at all, instead just holding each other and talking, and that unforeseen aspect, that breach of a strictly physical arrangement, is what’s tipped Lily into a maze without an exit. Into a situation more tangled than Albus’s godawful knitting. 

Lily’s no stranger to fuck-ups but this one is a premium level shit-show, even for her. She’s nosedived straight into the jaws of insanity with an impressive jump. She should’ve known better. Should’ve seen this grand-scale catastrophe coming from a mile off.  


Would she have stopped it?

Of course she wouldn’t, because she’s a masochistic twit who clearly never learns. She’d run backwards in high heels over coals for Narcissa, and she’s not exactly graceful at the best of times.

What she feels for Narcissa is something beyond reason, beyond comprehension, beyond magic, and she’s powerless to prevent it. Why would she want to? 

She has a vague, maudlin sense that she’d been living her life at an angle until Narcissa came along, with her bratty comments and tempestuous moods, and flipped everything into place with one _stupid_ little smile.

When on earth did she get so mushy? _Oh yeah,_ that’s right.

She doesn’t _want_ to stop.

What she _does_ want is for the secrecy to end. To hold Narcissa’s hand as they walk down the street, elated and smug. To take her to lunch at some shitty cafe that Narcissa pretends to hate without worrying about being recognised. She wants Narcissa, all of her, from her annoyingly polished smirk to her bony ankles, and everything in between.

_Christ._

It’s a fantasy that she should not be entertaining, even for a moment. She has absolutely no right to think about such things. The injustice of it all corkscrews like a rusty knife inside her. She’s acutely aware that continuing this entanglement is essentially sticking her tongue against a live wire and hoping for the best. Will end much the same as playing Russian Roulette with a fully-loaded gun. She doesn’t stand a chance of making it out of this intact.

Still, she can’t extinguish the desperate longing to love Narcissa openly, consequences be damned.

Because, okay, _yes,_ obviously she’s in love with Narcissa. Of course she is. _Of course,_ because what else could possibly make this whole fucktastic situation any worse?

_Because how could she not be?_

Lily sighs. She’ll send Molly a postcard from hell.

She’s contemplating turning up to the Manor uninvited, though that is sure to spell disaster in more ways than one. It’s a soulless place, sucked clean of colour and light, with ostentatious chandeliers and hideous heirlooms. Virtually a mausoleum. 

She’s only stepped foot inside the decaying grandeur of its walls once, dragged to a masquerade party by Andromeda and Ted which they were categorically not invited to attend. But Andromeda’s always been one to play tricks on the devil, so sticking two fingers up at the death eaters was just another source of fun for her. Especially when it involved pissing off her sister.

Come to think of it, wasn't a masked event a pretty questionable choice during wartime anyway? So who was really to blame?

Lily doesn’t care. She doesn’t give a single fuck, because that was the night, five months ago, when everything changed irreparably. When surprisingly soft fingers had slipped their way into hers and led her away from prying eyes, until everything was just a frenzied fog of feverish hands and criminally addictive kisses that are sewn into her soul for the rest of eternity. 

_“I’m going to make you scream my name until it's the only word you know,”_ Narcissa had professed, sinking her teeth into Lily’s earlobe. 

It wasn’t a lie. Lily hasn’t been able to think about anything else since.

She’s jolted from her reverie by a loud bang. 

Realising that someone is pounding at the door, Lily rushes towards it, her heart thudding erratically in her chest. _Please._ She hopes for a sweep of blonde and dark hair, tucked behind twin spider earrings. A matchstick mouth that never knows when to shut up, that blazes trails across her body that she still feels days later. 

_Please._

It’s Sirius, braced against the doorframe, his hair so unkempt that a gaggle of birds are liable to fly out at any moment. Lily can barely hide her disappointment, or her thoughts about his dishevelled mane. 

She must exude about as much enthusiasm as she does for the prospect of spending another afternoon at Petunia’s, with tasteless, blocky scones and coma-inducing company, because Sirius shakes his head and huffs. Truthfully, she’s not going to great lengths to suggest otherwise. _How tragic._

“Hi, Sirius, great to see you, Sirius,” he snorts, mimicking her voice with an exaggerated twang. He pushes his way past her into the kitchen, tossing his jacket somewhere off to the side. 

A graveyard of partially burnt meals litter the counters and Lily winces at the mess as she follows behind him. _Collateral damage._ There’s still a thick patch of soot caked to the ceiling from when she'd nearly incinerated the toaster as the fire alarm cheered her on. 

Periwinkle eyes skim over the wreckage on the worktops, coming to rest on Lily’s pained face over his shoulder. She shrinks under the scrutiny, dawdling her way to the sink to at least attempt some washing up. She’s markedly off kilter and it shows.

“Sorry about the chaos. It’s been a rough few days.” She runs a cloth under the hot tap, failing to notice the fact that it’s scalding.

Like the lovesick idiot that she is, she thinks about Narcissa’s freezing toes pressed against her calves. About a cold nose burrowed just beneath her ear that exhales warm puffs of air against her neck. About icy fingertips that snatch and soothe.

She thinks, also, as her eyes catch a glimpse of a conspicuous object next to her on the counter, about how Narcissa gets excited about the strangest things. About the hatbox in her dresser at the Manor that she keeps hidden, containing Narcissa’s dorkiest secret, one that she’d confessed to Lily after too much firewhisky spurred the redhead to ask her to tell her something that no one else knew. Yet another reckless stunt that pushed Lily’s pathetic heart beyond the point of no return. 

Narcissa is damn adorable, and Lily is as dumb as they come.

Sirius frowns, leaning over her to turn off the faucet before moving to put the kettle on. 

“What’s up with you?” He takes in Lily’s appearance. Charcoal circles hang heavy like caverns beneath her eyes and the state of her attire is atrocious. “Lovers’ spat?” 

Lily jerks as if she’s been struck and heat worms its way across her cheeks. “Something like that,” she mumbles, a bit too casually, cinching the dressing gown more tightly around her waist and tugging on the belt. James's blasted invisibility coat wouldn’t be unwelcome right about now. 

She tries to will the tears forming in her eyes to evaporate like the steam emerging from the kettle. No such luck, but fortunately Sirius doesn’t seem to notice.

“Spare me the details,” he grumbles, though his voice brims with mirth, searching the cupboards for something remotely edible. There’s not much of a selection on offer, but he scrapes together a bounty of digestive biscuits and slightly shrivelled grapes. 

Sirius's eyes linger over the small item that sticks out like a sore thumb by the bread bin, even with all of the other clutter surrounding it. “What the shit is _that?_ ” He whistles as he motions towards the article in question, raising his eyebrows. “If that’s the calibre of your game, I can see why you’re having issues.”

Lily leans back against the cabinet behind her. “Oh, shut up. Says the guy who once tried to woo his way into Sage Carrow’s affections by wearing an offensively teal, _fringed_ leather jacket and a bow tie to their date at the the _reptile_ centre.”

He swats her arm. “Come off it. She was a _Slytherin,_ for Pete’s sake. How was I supposed to know she was scared of snakes?”

“Yeah, I’m sure the snakes were the main turn off,” Lily mutters sarcastically, elbowing him in the side. She grabs the object, slinking to the hall and shoving it into the pocket of her coat, shooting him evils as he smirks. 

He offers the digestives to Lily as she walks back over but she waves her hand dismissively. Her appetite is non-existent. The chair that she sinks into is so poorly held together that it creaks. 

The table, too, is on its last legs. Fire spreads low in Lily's belly as she remembers exactly how it came to be broken. More than once they’ve ended up here, minds too addled by urgent desire to make it to the bedroom. 

On one occasion, Lily had hoisted firm thighs against the wood until Narcissa was sprawled out across its surface, fingers fisting into red hair, hips thrashing so wildly as she rocked that they’d cracked the frame. It had been dirty, and desperate, and hands down the most mind-blowing and erotic experience of Lily’s life. They’d slid off afterwards, boneless and sated, until they were nothing more than an inseparable heap of limbs on the floor.

_Shit._

She needs to hit the brakes on this train of thought or Sirius is going to see straight through her. She squeezes her eyes shut, pressing her palms over them. Inhales a measured breath. 

_Damn it,_ if Narcissa wasn’t so bloody _hypnotic_ she wouldn’t be having this problem. She must be some kind of otherworldly goddess because nothing else accounts for her ability to push every last one of Lily’s buttons and reduce her to a sappy mulch when she’s not even in the vicinity. _Perfect._

“Suit yourself.” She watches as he demolishes half of the packet, shovelling them into his mouth in quick succession. “So, what’s the deal? Horace said you called in sick this week. He seemed concerned.” 

_That bloody traitor._ “Yeah? Well Horace needs to learn to keep his trap shut.” Lily folds down the corner of one of the magazines in front of her before crossing her arms over her chest sulkily. “I don’t need my business shouted from the rooftops.”

She’d specifically asked Horace to be discreet about her absence, which doesn’t seem that flipping hard to follow. Unless she’d been speaking in Parseltongue, but she’s just never been known to do that.

“No need to shoot the messenger, Lil,” Sirius gripes, wiping his mouth with the heel of his hand. She wrinkles her nose in disgust. He’s intolerable, and endearing, and usually somehow manages to be both at the same time.

“No need to be so obnoxiously gross, either,” she pipes back. He rewards her with a mocking grin that is swiftly followed by a good-natured glower. 

“Anyway, I meant to come by yesterday but I had it in the neck from Andy.” He slumps down into a chair, sliding a mug of coffee to Lily across the table. With a wary finger, he inspects the drooping leaves of the potted plant to his left. _Another casualty._

“She’s in a foul mood. Nymphadora’s going through a rebellious phase and Ted’s decided to try to breed a new kind of super slug. His latest batch escaped and consumed half the vegetable patch. As you can imagine, it did not go down well.”

Lily can’t help but laugh at that, even if her thoughts are almost entirely elsewhere. Everyone knows that Andromeda’s marrows and lettuces are her pride and joy. She loves them more than Rubeus loves that bloody three-headed dog. 

Maybe she should make her a pie and send her condolences. She cringes at the idea. Her attempts at cooking always end one way - burnt on the outside, raw in the middle. _Like Narcissa._

Oh, _bloody hell._

“Not to mention Bella’s set for doing a third stint in Azkaban. Assault and battery this time. You’d think a girl would learn but clearly not. Totally batshit, that one.” He rolls his eyes, flicking the side of his cup and cursing as the liquid sloshes over the sides.

Shaking her head fondly, Lily passes him a tea towel. He mops up the spill, sighing heavily. “To top it off, Cissy’s _‘fallen down the stairs’_ , so she’s black and blue and Andy’s waiting on her hand and foot like some glorified servant. Not that I’m surprised.” Sirius snaps his biscuit in two after finishing his air quotes, dunking one half into his drink.

The world crashes down around Lily like a mallet swinging straight at her skull. 

_No._

A torrent of bile surges up her throat, scorching her insides. 

_No._

_Black and blue._

The words repeat over and over, turning everything else into a rubble that she’s helplessly trying to scrabble her way out from underneath. Sirius’s gaze rests on Lily’s hand, which has added seven spoonfuls of sugar to her coffee so far, and counting.

He frowns, placing his fingers over hers to still her movements. She drops the spoon, oblivious to the sound that it makes as it clatters against the table. Her mind barely registers his touch as it races in a million and one directions. 

_Cissy. Stairs. Cissy._

“Total hogwash if you ask me,” Sirius continues offhandedly, unaware of the way that Lily’s heart is trying to climb out of her chest. “It’s hardly a secret that Lucius has a mean right hook and apparently she’s left him, so god knows how that played out. She must think we’re thicker than two short planks.”

Everything is very hazy suddenly and Lily has to grab the edge of the table in front of her to keep from smacking her head against the wood. The room spins and spins. Something tight is pulling at her ribs and she can’t get any oxygen into her lungs. A strangled noise leaves her mouth, ugly and malformed, as she tries to heave in a breath. 

_This can't be happening._

Lucius is a bully, that much is plain to see. Even if Narcissa hasn’t said it in so many words, Lily can tell he rules with an iron fist and coercive control. He treats Narcissa like an object that he possesses, a well-trained pet, to do with as he sees fit. 

Once or twice, at the mention of his name, she sees fear flash across Narcissa’s eyes, though she does everything that she can to conceal it. Worse even, sometimes when Lily reaches for her Narcissa flinches, momentarily forgetting who she’s with, and Lily’s heart aches and aches with a rabid kind of sorrow. 

He’s always been a repulsive piece of shit, no doubt about it.

But to _hurt_ her? To hurt Narcissa, who is so effortlessly radiant, so feisty and determined and brilliantly giving - the _best_ person that Lily has ever met - is unfathomable. _Vile._ The thought of Narcissa in pain, even for a moment, settles in the pit of her stomach like thick, molten tar. It pierces through her in places that Lily didn’t even realise existed. 

_Black and blue._ She’s going to be sick.

 _“Cissy?”_ The name leaves her mouth like the wind has been knocked out of her, falling somewhere between a question and a broken plea, though she’s not really sure what she’s asking. Her cheeks burn and she can taste something like blood, probably from biting her lip so damn hard that she’s nicked the skin.

Sirius looks at her incredulously, like she’s just sprouted another set of ears. “Um, Narcissa? Incurable snob? My blonde-haired bimbo of a cousin with a penchant for being a stuck up she-devil? Ring any bells?” 

Lily is too stricken to even comment, though she reels at his description.

 _Narcissa,_ she wants to argue, with kisses of pure honey and sunshine. _Narcissa,_ with elaborately swirled handwriting that pens silly little notes slipped into Lily’s pockets for her to find later. _Narcissa,_ baking sugary treats that show up unannounced just to make her smile. _Narcissa,_ thoughtful and kind and so obscenely lovely that Lily want to protect her from everything that hurts. 

She’s failed _pitifully,_ and that knowledge draws out another garbled breath.

Sirius pops a grape into his mouth, eyeing her curiously. “Narcissa,” she wheezes, her voice ragged and cracking in the middle. Metal scrapes against tile as she gets to her feet, her chair sliding backwards across the floor. She’s close to paralysed for a few seconds, bracing her hands on the table to steady her legs. 

_Narcissa,_ who tastes like ice cream, cold and sweet and melting against her tongue. _Narcissa,_ who tucks kisses against her collarbone in the afterglow that are so pious and tender that Lily feels like a cherished deity. Who sings Marianne Faithfull when she’s getting dressed.

 _Narcissa,_ with a birthmark shaped like a buttercup just above her navel. With little freckles that look like cocoa powder scattered across her chest. With a silvery scar resembling a swan curled around her right kneecap.

 _Narcissa,_ with _that smile_ , lifting her cheeks into the most heavenly globes and bringing out the amber in her irises. Forming tiny crow’s feet in the creases around her eyes. _That smile_ is a miracle, the closest thing to divinity that Lily’s ever experienced. She never knew what inspired Severus to write so many woefully pathetic love poems until the saw the bow of Narcissa’s lips twitching into _that smile._

And now _Narcissa,_ beaten and bleeding and alone. 

It seeds something inside Lily too malevolent to name. Anguish blazes like wildfire, spreading and spreading until it eclipses everything else, until only blackness and flames remain. She needs to get to her as surely as she needs her next breath of air.

“Yes, that’s what I said,” Sirius confirms impatiently, confusion warping his features into something that Lily can’t bear to look at dead on. Not that she can see anything at all. Tears cloud every inch of her vision until she’s left with nothing but indistinct shapes and merging colours. 

_“Narcissa,”_ she repeats, almost involuntarily, her hand coming up to clutch at her chest, a fist squeezing against the fabric of her robe. The expression on her face must be harrowing because Sirius’s eyes widen in concern. “Where is she?”

“How the hell should I know?” He squints slightly, watching as Lily’s body contorts with horror, nearly bending in half as she folds her arms around her stomach. “One of Andy’s cottages just outside of Margate, I think she said, though I highly doubt it’s up to that conceited bitch’s usual standards. Why do you even—”

In a flash, Lily rears up, pointing a finger at his face in way that cannot be mistaken for anything other than a threat. It might as well be a wand held to his throat. Her blue eyes glint dangerously, though they are brimming with tears that are obstinately starting to spill.

“ _Don’t_ —don’t you _ever_ talk about her like that again,” Lily growls, in a tone so low and deadly that it betrays everything that she doesn’t want to address. She’s beyond caring. She feels like she’s at the gallows and the rope is beginning to pull taut.

Sirius’s mouth falls open and his eyes practically bulge out of their sockets as he puts the pieces together. “Oh, for the love of— _not_ Malfoy’s bloody _wife,_ Lily? Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Time seems to slow down as his head moves back and forth, gaze locked with Lily’s.

When she offers nothing to the contrary, he releases a drawn out, exasperated groan of long-suffering, haphazardly discarding the biscuit that he’s been holding and closing his eyes. It skids across the wood, leaving a trail of crumbs in its wake. “My blimmin’ _cousin?_ As if the whole James fiasco wasn’t enough for one lifetime. I’m gonna have to get Kingsley to obliviate the shit out of my brain.”

Lily isn’t even listening as she chokes against another wave of bile. Any pretence of composure is long gone. “I have to see her, Sirius. This _instant._ ” She sounds borderline hysterical, but _so fucking what?_

For once, she’s as fast as lightning. She’s already shrugging off her robe and snatching up her coat from its hook, yanking on the grey tweed over her pyjamas. The laces of her boots are pulled so tightly that they nearly cut off the circulation to her toes. It’s a more manageable kind of numb, at least. Then, without warning, she’s crying, full, racking sobs that rattle her thin frame like a rag doll.

“Woah, it’s okay, Lil.” Sirius darts up, throwing his chair back and coming to a halt in front of her. He wraps two strong arms around her shoulders. They are not the ones that she wants. She hates them for that.

Her body is stiff, resistant to any obstacle that stands between her and getting to where she needs to go. “Listen,” Sirius marches on, “if I know one thing about my cousin it’s that she’s tough as nails, yeah? She’s going to be fine.”

Lily wants to bite back. Wants to tell him that Narcissa’s heart is the most fragile, precious thing in the universe, but she doesn't have time. 

Shedding ferocity, her voice falls to a soft, rough whisper. “ _Please._ I need to see her. And I—I don’t think I can make it there on my own.”

Sirius still looks sceptical, opening his mouth for what is undoubtedly a refusal and then seemingly thinking better of it. She finds herself begging, straining against his embrace. “Take me to her. _Now._ ” The words stagger out with such broken intensity that they leave Sirius no room to protest. 

Apparating is dangerous, especially with the war only just over, but he knows that Lily will never agree to wait the time that it will take them to drive there. He sighs, holding Lily’s face between his hands, if only to cease its constant loop of movement against his shoulder. 

“Okay, Lil. Okay. We’ll find her. It’s gonna be alright.”


	3. wearing a gown of nails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the start of the chapter that I've split into three parts so that it's easier to take in. There are no real transitions between the parts but hopefully they are better to digest. Happy reading. :)

It’s dark by the time that they arrive. Andromeda lets them in without asking too many questions, though she seems to have her own suspicions about Lily’s untidy presence. She looks over her shoulder, shooting Sirius a knowing glance.

“Where is she?” Lily demands, choosing to bypass niceties. Andromeda is one of her dearest friends. She’ll deal with the repercussions later.

Andromeda raises a thin eyebrow, so high that it’s practically at her hairline, and smiles in a way that suggests that she knows exactly why Lily’s there. “Second floor. First room on the right.” 

After discarding their shoes, Sirius accompanies Lily up the stairs, mainly to ensure that her limbs make it to the top. It’s touch and go.

The room that Narcissa’s staying in is dimly lit, a few candles scattered around giving the place a warm glow. Sirius stands just in front of Lily at the entryway, a gesture that she appreciates because she needs time to coax her tongue from the roof of her mouth. She’s not certain whether it remembers how to operate. The rest of her body certainly does not.

“What are you doing here?” Narcissa snaps with contempt when she spies Sirius’s lanky form loitering in the shadows. Her stony demeanour does nothing to hide the tremor in her voice. “Come to gloat?”

Sirius snorts. “Nice to see you, too.” He folds his arms over his chest, shaking his head and making an irritated clicking sound with his tongue. “For your information, Queen Crabby, I’m here to make a delivery. Though perhaps I’ll take it back if you’re going to be like that.”

Narcissa’s brows furrow in confusion and her lips purse into a well-practiced oval. Annoyance ripples from her like a visible heat wave. “If you insist on speaking in riddles then—”

Lily steps out from behind Sirius, swinging into focus, and the waspish words die in Narcissa’s throat. The glare slips from her face and the skin around her eyes crimps into delicate lines. If Sirius didn’t know any better, he might suspect that she’s trying to conceal a smile.

 _“Lily,”_ she whispers, so reverently and with such wonder that Sirius immediately feels like an intruder. He glances between the two women for a moment, as if the cogs in his brain are still fitting them together.

“I’ll, er—leave you both to it then. Feel better, Cissy.” He adds the latter part as an afterthought, though it damn near eviscerates him to do so. He turns to leave but swivels on his heel at the last minute, clearing his throat awkwardly as he almost trips. “I’ll, um, stay downstairs for a while. If that blonde-headed fuckwit comes within a foot of this place, I’ll see to it that it’s his final move.”

Narcissa stares at him blankly, hardly blinking. He throws an uncomfortable nod in her direction before sparing a wink at Lily and making to exit.

“Wait.” The croaky murmur trickles out from the figure on the bed. “Sirius, I— _thank you._ ”

Okay, so maybe, just _maybe,_ Sirius thinks, this _situation_ between them isn’t the worst thing in the world. He nods again, more genuinely this time, before padding off without another word. Lily listens to his footsteps as they descend the stairs, grateful for his support.

His presence must serve as a buffer because, as soon as he’s gone, Lily’s knees buckle out from under her. She snatches at the doorframe, fighting to stay upright. 

Narcissa’s expression has switched to something more difficult to determine. For all intents and purposes, she appears as poised and elegant as ever, despite that fact that she’s propped up against the headboard. There is, however, a faint buzz in the air that is unmistakable. Lily knows what it is and the metallic scent that lingers confirms it. _The subtle signs of a concealment charm._

Her heart drops to her stomach as she runs through a hundred other meetings in her mind, scanning for those same telltale details in case she have might have missed them. It’s too much to even contemplate.

A handful of garments in dust jackets are draped across various pieces of furniture in the room, along with a few suitcases and boxes containing what Lily can only assume are the remnants of Narcissa’s life at the Manor. She tries cataloguing them all, doing anything that she can to keep her mind from dwelling elsewhere. 

Narcissa seems so unbearably small, _tiny,_ bundled beneath the covers that Lily’s almost too scared to approach her for fear that she might break in half. Even so, she treads closer on shaky feet, her limbs unwilling to cooperate as she tries to reach the bed as quickly as she can. 

The nearer that she gets, the more obvious is becomes that Narcissa has been crying. If appearances are anything to go by, she has been for days. Her eyes are red-rimmed and dull. The realisation tears into Lily’s flesh more forcefully than a lashing from the Whomping Willow.

She finally makes it, hastily clambering up to sit in the space next to the outline of Narcissa’s legs. The room is eerily quiet. With nothing to drown them out, the sounds of their shallow breathing and the sporadic pump of her heart in her ears make Lily’s head spin. And that infernal _buzzing_ is fucking intolerable.

She peels off her coat, tossing it across the end of the bed. The first brush of Lily’s hand against Narcissa’s cheek is met with a wince that Lily knows is more than just a reflex. She lowers her fingers, grazing them gently over the back of Narcissa’s knuckles. 

“Hello, stranger. I heard you had a spot of bother and I figured your personal potions aficionado might be able to assist,” Lily states with an impish grin. Her stomach is in knots but she does her best not to let it show. _‘Your’_ is probably not a term that she should be using, though she wants to be Narcissa’s, _is_ Narcissa’s, doesn’t want to imagine being anyone else’s ever again.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Narcissa retorts gruffly, though she can’t hide her smile. 

With infinite tenderness, Lily presses a hallowed kiss against Narcissa’s forehead like a blessing. Like a promise. Static crackles between them as their separate brands of magic greet each other beneath their skin. 

Lily had missed her. _God,_ how she had missed her.

The pads of her fingertips move to skim the length of Narcissa’s arm. “Show me,” Lily entreats, her voice much steadier than she feels. Though it doesn’t seem possible, Narcissa blanches even more. Her smile vanishes. She looks away, fixing her gaze on the opposite wall.

“No.” Narcissa’s lower lip trembles indignantly. She wrings her hands in front of her, scratching at her skin. Her nail varnish is chipped and the sight of that alone is like a kick to Lily’s gut.

Devoid of her signature lipstick and mascara, her half-up, half-down locks slightly tousled, Narcissa seems much less commanding than usual. Less lethal, which should be reassuring but instead raises the hairs on the back of Lily's neck.

“Narcissa, _please._ ” She can hear the panic emanating from her words, even as she tries to bury it. Her emotions are treading a slippery slope, and there’s the threat of an avalanche waiting in the wings.

“I suppose you’ll make me if I don’t, is that it?” Narcissa snarls, her eyes full of rage. “Why don’t you just fuck off?”

Lily should probably feel insulted by the accusation but she doesn’t. Because, _lord, that’s her girl,_ a total spitfire, ready to pull a weapon at a moment’s notice. A force to be reckoned with, even if she’s all bark and no bite when it comes to Lily.

It’s a simple spell and the magic itches against Lily’s skin. She could undo the effects as easily as peeling back the flap of an envelope, but she won’t breach Narcissa’s trust.

“Of course not. If you’d really rather not then that’s okay. I would never force you to do anything you don’t want to do, you know that.” She keeps her tone mild, even as the thought of others who have made Narcissa bend to their will bubbles up and scalds her throat. “It’s just me.”

For a minute, Lily worries that Narcissa might bolt. She winds her arms around herself, hissing under her breath, with the distinct, restless energy of someone who is cornered.

“I mean it,” Lily whispers carefully, scraping her thumb over the bone at the side of Narcissa’s wrist. “If it’s too much, you don’t have to show me.”

Narcissa chews her lip, mulling it over, before letting out a frail, resigned sigh. “Don't say that I didn't warn you,” she mutters weakly, with a rough, false laugh that breaks midway. 

She lifts her wand from the nightstand beside her and brings it up, with a shaking hand, to her temple. Her eyelids clamp shut as silver sparks crackle against her skin. The atmosphere is so suffocating that it seems to immobilise both women.

Everything slams to a standstill. Lily struggles not to weep immediately as the charm falls away, divulging with crippling clarity what Narcissa was hiding. Her perfect features are littered with angry, plum-coloured bruises. The space beneath her eyes is swollen and puckered, making her usually pronounced cheekbones nearly invisible.

It’s absolutely nauseating and Lily can’t prevent the strained sob that crawls out of her mouth, ricocheting off the magnolia walls. She instinctively tangles her fingers with Narcissa’s, seeking any contact that might anchor them together. At the touch of their palms, Lily sags with something that is almost relief, though the state of things hardly permits it.

Narcissa’s pale complexion turns even more ghost-like and the exhaustion that flows from her is so palpable that Lily can sense it creeping its way into her own bones. She lets out another shuddering gasp, running a gentle fingertip over the shape of Narcissa’s lips as if to make sure that it’s really her. Nothing could have prepared her for the despair that she feels gnawing at her abdomen, constricting her ribs like a corset.

Narcissa refuses to meet her eyes but long fingers flex and her pale hand tightens its hold. She sinks further into the sheets, turning her face away from Lily’s silent examination. 

“I don’t want you to see me like this.” Narcissa’s voice is hard, almost bitter, but the words wobble out unevenly. Lily knows that Narcissa is intensely private, that she hates feeling weak and vulnerable in front of other people, and her chest aches at what this must be doing to her. “If you’re done gawping you can leave.”

Lily’s heart is beating double time. She doubts that she could go anywhere if she tried. “Do you want me to leave?”

Narcissa runs her thumb over the back of Lily’s hand absently. For a long time she remains unresponsive and dread seizes Lily’s stomach like a vice.

“How can you even bear to look at me?” Narcissa closes her eyes. “I am hideous, and an utter disgrace. To my family. To my _marriage._ ” She spits out the last word as if it’s acid on her tongue.

Lily gives in to a watery sob, folding the upper half of her body against Narcissa’s torso and gathering her into her arms. She’s careful not to bear down too heavily for fear of bruises beneath Narcissa’s shirt. Humming with desperation, she dusts featherlight kisses over every inch of Narcissa’s face. She presses her lips to the freckle just below her right eyebrow, to the side of her nose, to the slant of her jaw, to the line at the edge of her mouth. 

She slides her hand into silky hair and brings their foreheads together. “Not to me. _Never_ to me. You are _beautiful,_ ” Lily swears, scraping her nails against Narcissa’s scalp as soothingly as she can. It’s a little too open, a little too honest, but she won’t let Narcissa think for even a minute that she’s anything less to her. “ _Always._ Nothing but beautiful.”

Narcissa makes a self-deprecating noise that wrings Lily’s heart, still avoiding her gaze. “You must be blind.”

With the amount of tears gathering in her eyes, Lily very nearly is. She sweeps a few strands of dark hair from Narcissa’s cheek, her fingertips tingling as they trace the cold skin. 

“Will you let me heal them?” Lily requests cautiously, fearful that Narcissa will decline. She doesn’t want to push too hard, but what is use is her craft if she can’t help the woman that she loves? Anxiety billows through her chest as she waits for an answer.

Narcissa hesitates, reaching to ghost her fingers over Lily’s before giving a curt nod. “If you like.” 

It’s more than Lily dared to expect and she has to curb the relieved sigh that springs to her lips. Instead, she bends, dusting a soft kiss against the corner of Narcissa’s mouth. “Thank you.”

Lily retrieves her wand from her coat pocket and summons her supplies. Marjoram, arnica flower, morning dew and mallowsweet. A botanical alternative to Wiggenweld potion that will do in a pinch. She prefers to use herbs and plants in her remedies - things that grow from the ground. Horace teases her for it, but they are less unpredictable. Less likely to be contaminated by things that bring about unintended side effects. She won’t take any unnecessary risks, especially when it comes to Narcissa.

Lily shifts on the bed, rolling up the sleeves of her thick, flannel shirt and setting to work. Over a small flame, she adds the ingredients to a bowl on the nightstand, bringing them to a simmer. _Easy does it._ Her gaze drifts to the items beside the vessel and her tongue suddenly feels too big for her mouth. 

A vase of peonies. Narcissa’s reading glasses, with chunky, tortoiseshell frames. Nestled beside them, with a bookmark tucked about half way through, is a copy of _Notions and Potions._ Tears rush to the backs of Lily’s eyes and her heart feels like it’s in free fall. 

Lily had been gushing about the book in one of their last conversations, babbling with great enthusiasm about the recent developments in her favourite field. Narcissa had scoffed, rolling her eyes so dramatically that Lily felt sure that her pupils would never return. She’d tutted about _“new age hocus pocus”_ and _“gimmicky spell work”_ , railing against Cassity Benson’s _“diabolical”_ writing style and _“blatant bid for popularity”_. Quite honestly, the fact that she’d even been listening had come as more of a shock to Lily than her nettling attitude. 

Nevertheless, the book had been important to Lily, and it seems that, despite her grumbled diatribe, Narcissa has chosen to read it for that precise reason. The revelation makes Lily's pulse sprint and warmth drifts through her bones like afternoon sunshine. Every time she is convinced that she can’t fall any more head over heels, the universe proves her wrong. She’s so besotted that it’s farcical.

Turning her attention back to the task at hand, Lily swirls a stirring rod in the mauve concoction. She taps it against the sides until she’s sure that everything is adequately mixed together. 

With a few finessed blinks, she staves off the moisture gathering at her eyelashes. “This will reduce the swelling and the…marks,” she informs, gulping against the tide of emotions that somehow sneaks up her throat. “They might still be sore but you’ll be red-carpet-ready in no time.”

Lily offers her a weak grin but Narcissa averts her eyes, staring off to the side. She can hear the unpleasant sound of teeth grinding together. Everything feels highly charged as Narcissa sits deathly still, the blankets around her pulled high against her body. 

“Just get it over with before I change my mind. I feel like a curio at a freak show,” Narcissa snaps, her lips drooping sullenly. 

Lily tries not to smile, though Narcissa’s petulant demand tugs at her heart. She may be a towering woman but she has the patience of a child. As does Lily.

“Yes, your majesty,” Lily replies with a silly inflection, determined to inject as much levity into the tense situation as she can. Narcissa rolls her eyes with an irritated groan. _Right,_ so that hasn’t quite gone to plan.

 _“Hurry up,”_ Narcissa seethes, a fist hitting the covers next to her. 

Lily’s tempted to drag it out deliberately, but she decides against it. Things are bad enough as they are. She dips her fingers into the salve, tilting Narcissa’s chin up with her thumb. With delicate strokes, she applies the serum to Narcissa’s face until she’s satisfied that every inch is covered. It’s hard to disguise the tremble in her hand as she draws it away.

Gradually, the blemishes fade, becoming less visible. Under ordinary circumstances, the sight would provide Lily with some solace, some pride that her treatment is working, but she feels nothing close to that. Instead, a hopeless, fatigued pressure bears down on her shoulders. 

_She’s nowhere near finished yet,_ and she’s not sure that she can handle finding out what lurks beneath Narcissa’s clothes. Even the prospect is excruciating and Lily is certain that the reality is going to be far worse.

Narcissa watches her warily with a bleak expression. It’s all Lily can do not to splinter entirely. Quashing her own simmering torment, she tickles along Narcissa’s forearms, tracing light circles over her sleeves. She’s having a hard time getting her bearings, but she summons just enough strength to appear marginally collected. 

Adjusting her position, Lily shuffles up to straddle Narcissa’s thighs, balancing the weight on her calves. The proximity is arresting and Lily wishes that she could close the gap between them, could simply take Narcissa into her arms and forget everything else, as if this has all been some awful dream. _If only._

She brings her fingertips to the hem of Narcissa’s shirt, willing her heart to stop pounding. 

“I’m going to take this off, okay?” Lily waits for confirmation. She won’t continue without it.

Narcissa’s tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek. Her annoyance is unmistakable. “I said hurry up. Stop treating me like I’m made of glass and get on with it.” 

The buttons on Narcissa’s pyjamas are pearlescent, alternating between crescent moons and stars. Lily carefully begins to undo them, doing her best to ignore the way that the chest beneath her fingers contracts and expands with heavy, uneven breaths.

She feigns a laugh, though it’s empty of mirth. “You’re a terrible patient, did you know that?”

“Not really a surprise, is it?” Narcissa bites back, with a forced snort that sounds suspiciously like she’s narrowly avoided a sob. Her hands grip the thin, gingham quilt. “I’m a terrible person.”

The self-loathing that drips from her voice sucker punches Lily in the ribs. Her eyes widen as she studies Narcissa’s bleary frown, lumbering to find the right words.

“Narcissa—” Lily’s not sure what she wants to say, what she _can_ say, to vanquish the phantom of sadness from Narcissa’s eyes. As it turns out, that dilemma is the least of Lily’s concerns.

The syllables of Narcissa’s name are still rolling out as Lily slips the sleeves from her shoulders. Emerald silk slides down, pooling at Narcissa’s elbows, and after that she loses the ability to control her tongue.

Everything grinds to a sickening halt as the fabric falls, revealing the war zone underneath. Lily freezes in place, her gaze fixed on the most abhorrent evil that she’s ever seen manifested. Dark handprints are emblazoned against the top of Narcissa’s arms like they are dragging her towards the underworld. Her torso is riddled with bruises of varying shapes and sizes that starkly contrast her pale skin. Every one of Lily’s pores feels clogged with a sticky lacquer of panic.

Not long ago, she’d helped Poppy in the wake of disaster, bandaging breaks and tending to the most horrific of wounds. That alone had been more than one person should see in their lifetime. But _this…_

This is something beyond that, way beyond the limits of Lily’s endurance. She feels like she’s going to pass out. Like the bed beneath her has given way and she’s plummeted straight into the depths of hell. Best case scenario, she imagines that Narcissa was thrown against a hard surface with substantial force. _Worst case…_

She _can’t._ She can’t go there, not now.

Lily grinds her teeth, snagging flesh between them and not even wincing when a metallic taste hits her tongue. She recites cures and restoratives one by one in her mind, leaning on them for comfort.

_Mint for sea-serpent stings. Rue to counter poisons. Dittany for minor scrapes. Rosemary to improve the memory._

A single tear trickles out from the corner of Narcissa’s eye, following the line of her nose. “Lily, _please,_ ” Narcissa mutters hoarsely, slouching back against the headboard. “I know it’s…” The words peter out on the tail of a defeated sigh. “Just _please._ Do it quickly. This is mortifying.”

Distraction techniques are a lost cause. The grief that Lily feels is insurmountable and there’s no antidote in the world that can counteract the explosive fury that bulldozes through her whole body. 

She wants to kiss every centimetre of Narcissa’s sacred skin, replacing each wretched memory with softness and devotion. She wants to take away every moment of sorrow. 

More than anything, she wants to _hurt_ Lucius. Wants to watch him writhe in agony. Wants to cast aside every moral instinct within her and make him _pay_ for what he’s done.

Never in her life has Lily felt the heinous impulse to call upon dark magic, to wield unforgivable curses and inflict pain upon another person. It goes against everything that she stands for. But her arteries glut with an insidious, poisonous rage that insists that belladonna and death caps are ripe for the picking. That a single leaf of oleander can kill within seconds. 

That words like revenge and retribution, words like _Crucio_ , are justifiable means to an end. 

_No._

_That’s not who she is._

She coats her fingers in balm meant for healing. She applies it to Narcissa’s skin reverently, as if she’s anointing her. With each press of her fingertips, she mouths protection charms, weaving them around Narcissa’s body like a tapestry of fireflies.

 _Love._ Love is her weapon of choice. Love is what she went to war for, and love is what she will give to Narcissa.

When her task is complete, she hops off the bed momentarily, her bare feet hitting the floor with a clumsy thunk. She eases Narcissa forwards, creating enough space so that Lily can kneel behind her. More livid bruises accent the canvas of her back and Lily is once again overtaken by anguish at the sight. She brushes a hand over Narcissa’s smooth stomach, trying to soothe her. Perhaps, more honestly, trying to soothe herself.

_Get it together._

_Milk thistle to ease the liver. Valerian for sleep. Mullein, or hag’s taper, to ward off bad witches but used by good ones to treat coughs._

Lily sweeps aside Narcissa’s hair, lavishing a kiss against the back of her neck and trailing her lips across to leave another against her scapula. Her fingers skim across Narcissa’s narrow shoulders, the arch of her back, working in the ointment with light strokes. 

Narcissa remains like a statue throughout, completely unmoving. She doesn’t make a noise and it’s somehow louder than anything that Lily has ever heard.

“You’re beautiful,” Lily promises again and again over Narcissa’s ear, repeating it with every new injury that she finds. “You’re so beautiful.” 

_I love you,_ she wants to say, hoping to communicate the message with each motion of her palms. It’s an action that is on the wrong side of a very thin line that she’s treading. _Ill-advised. Bound for shipwreck._

 _Fuck it,_ she’ll sign up for a one way ticket to the stake if it provides Narcissa with even a hint of comfort. 

When she’s finished, Lily loops her arms around Narcissa’s waist. Though she can’t see it, she settles her hands over the spot where she knows the buttercup is located. She imagines casting it to life, scattering its petals against Narcissa’s skin until its brightness soaks through.

To Lily’s delight, Narcissa tips her head backwards until it comes to rest over her collarbone. Glacial fingers skirt along Lily’s forearms as Narcissa leans into the embrace. Despite her shock, Lily recovers quickly. Narcissa’s body is less pliant than usual, but the fact that she’s allowing Lily to hold her means so much that it’s impossible to quantify.

Ignoring the screeching banshee in her mind that urges her to proceed with caution, Lily hugs Narcissa to her chest, nuzzling the side of her cheek. It’s precariously intimate, Lily knows that. As soon as Narcissa realises that Lily is a gooey, smitten idiot, the jig will be up and Lily’s not naive enough to assume that it’s going to end well. She has no expectations of salvaging her heart when _this_ reaches its inevitable conclusion.

Still, Lily is not going to give up without a fight. She’ll have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, away from Narcissa, or die by Narcissa’s own sword. 

She should really take steps to preserve some iota of dignity.

_She’s not going to do that._

Throwing a quick prayer up to whatever goddess resides near the ceiling, Lily squeezes Narcissa tighter, kissing her cheek. It’s almost definitely a poor choice, but she’s a simpleminded fool so at least it’s in keeping with her devilish flair for misfortune. Narcissa, however, hums softly, letting a little smile glide across her mouth. 

_Right,_ time to reel it in before Lily starts spewing ballads and waxing lyrical about _that bloody smile._ She needs to at least accomplish the rest of her mission before Narcissa smokes her out and murders her.

“Are there any more?” Lily questions, edging her chin forwards to scan Narcissa’s face. Her grin drops and she glances at Lily impassively, but it’s clear from the quiver of her jaw that she’s considering a lie. 

Her nostrils twitch as she sighs. “Just one. On my thigh.” She speaks in a voice that doesn’t even sound like it belongs to her, sounds all wrong, distant and devoid of any intonation. It sends a shiver down Lily’s spine. 

With a shaky hand, Narcissa removes her trousers, allowing Lily to see the purple mark. It might rest alone against her skin but it’s huge, nearly spanning the width of her upper leg and branching up towards her hip. Lily can taste the acid that lurches up from her belly. She feels ill.

Shuffling out from behind Narcissa, Lily swings down onto the floor. She could probably have adjusted her position without getting up from the bed but she needs to feel something solid beneath her feet. Something she trusts, because she’s struggling to retain control over her anger.

_Primroses for scalds. Groundsel for sore eyes. Bogbean for congestion._

She stretches out her aching limbs, running a hand through her hair as she twists her torso. There’s a cramp in her neck that refuses to budge.

She takes the opportunity to observe more of her surroundings. The room is sparsely decorated with only a few faded paintings lining the walls. There’s another door that must lead to a separate bathroom and a modest fire burns in a small hearth in the corner. The boards beneath her toes were probably varnished once but now display only the merest hint of shine. Nevertheless, it’s cosy and warm. _Very Andy,_ which provides Lily with some comfort. 

It also contains the person who matters most in the world to Lily, so there’s nowhere else that she’d rather be.

Ginger and camomile tea, Lily decides, will be good for both of them.

Pushing her reservations to the side, Lily once again picks up her wand. Sparks flicker from the end as she prepares two mugs of steaming liquid, adding a slice of lemon and a dollop of honey to Narcissa’s, just the way that she likes. Everything is so easy to remember when it comes to Narcissa. Lily doesn’t ever want to let go of a single detail, stowing them away for future reference. 

She has to bite back a grim whimper at the thought. No matter what Lily tries to envisage for the future, Narcissa is always there. She can’t bear to contemplate a life without her.

Although her throat feels like she’s eaten a fistful of razorblades, Lily manages to lower the cups onto the nightstand without incident. Narcissa won’t make eye contact with her as she climbs back onto the bed, which only serves to unsettle Lily further. She appears almost catatonic.

Booting her agitation to the kerb, Lily sinks forwards, laying a kiss over Narcissa’s heart. _Another steep decline in judgment,_ but she’s already as fucked as possible so what’s the harm? Her fingers diligently rearrange Narcissa’s nightshirt, fastening the buttons from top to bottom. She adopts a cross-legged position, though her knees creak in protest.

“Thank you. For telling me,” she offers gently, reaching out to graze her knuckles over Narcissa’s cheekbone. “It’s nearly over.”

_Is it, though?_

The physical effects Lily might be able to mend but she knows that the emotional scars will be far more perilous to navigate. Lily has plenty of her own monsters. She’s all too familiar with sleepless nights and the things that they whisper in the darkness. No matter what happens, she’s determined that Narcissa sure as hell won’t have to face hers alone. 

If they try to lure her down the rabbit hole, Lily will don a head torch and tie a rope around her waist until she can bring Narcissa back to safety.

She leans in, kissing the ridges that have appeared between Narcissa’s brows. Dark eyes meet Lily’s when she slants back, teeming with something that she doesn’t know how to decode. It might be gratitude, or nothing more than wishful thinking. Either way, it gleams in the candlelight and reduces Lily to ruins. 

_Caution can get stuffed._ Lily’s always had an uncanny knack for sailing headlong into peril, so why change the habit of a lifetime? Maybe tempting fate is a bad idea but at least this particular calamity has its perks. 

She slips her hands around the backs of Narcissa’s knees, rubbing softly, before coating the offending bruise with the elixir. If she only gets one shot at this, she might as well make sure that she imbues the process with so much adoration that Narcissa never forgets her. Even the possibility cleaves Lily’s heart in two. She works her fingers into the knots buried under the skin of Narcissa's calves, trying to massage away any tension. Her own body feels nearly spent from its jittery movements.

She draws a heart over Narcissa’s kneecap, tracing the shelf of cartilage around the edge with her nail. Runs the pad of her thumb over the little swan beside it. Tears spring to her eyes as they catch a glimpse of Narcissa’s dainty toes, still perfectly painted, and she fights the urge to count them to make sure that they’re all there. 

Tacking together enough confidence to plaster on a smile is no mean feat. Lily shimmies the garment back up over Narcissa’s legs and tucks the covers over her waist. She is once again despondent, vacant eyes staring straight ahead, and Lily feel utterly powerless.

Wasting little time, Lily tidies everything away with a dash of her wand, tilting Narcissa’s chin up to meet her gaze. “How do they feel?” 

Narcissa shuffles against the pillows, her eyes finally flitting to Lily’s. “Better. Thank you.” 

The words should provide a grain of comfort, but instead amplify Lily’s distress. She takes Narcissa’s hand, pressing her lips against the pulse that throbs at the inside of her wrist. _Proof of life._ Her tears rush out, splashing against milky skin. Keeping them at bay is futile.

The gesture must be too much for Narcissa, must translate as pity, because she pushes Lily’s shoulders back, wrenching her hand out of Lily’s grasp and clasping it against her sternum like a shield. _“Enough.”_

It’s an action that almost shatters Lily, but she tries to remain calm. She knows that Narcissa is overwhelmed, self-conscious, battling against more emotions than she understands how to process. For a woman who relies on keeping a cool head to get her through, this must be terrifying.

Lily doesn’t press, honouring the space that Narcissa has placed between them. She casts her eyes over the patch of skin that’s visible just above Narcissa’s top button, where the freckles peek out like pins on a map marking the places that she’d like to travel.

Narcissa expertly sidesteps her discomfort, planting her feet on firmer ground. She sucks at her lip, peering up at Lily from under thick lashes. “What did you tell Sirius?” There’s an edge to her tone that hints that a storm is brewing. Something sour and repellant. _This does not bode well._

“Nothing, but he knows.” Lily tries to sound neutral, with limited success. She stares at the dimples that sit just beneath Narcissa’s knuckles, apprehension growing rapidly. Bees swarm in her chest cavity, stinging relentlessly as if trying to find their way out.

“I imagine that must be rather embarrassing for you,” Narcissa states with a humourless smile, her voice stiff and peculiar. Something akin to fiendfyre courses through Lily’s veins. _Great, here we go. Cue the bullshit brigade._

She knows that Narcissa is going to resort to lashing out because a short fuse is her own fatal flaw as well. Lily is no shrinking violet and she isn’t exactly innocent when it comes to the instigation and stoking of their sparring matches. Anger is easy and safe - far safer than the alternative. _Facing the truth._

_They are a pair of morons, just as bad as each other._

“What?” Lily asks tersely through gritted teeth, fairly confident that she doesn’t want to hear what’s coming next. When you turn over a rock, anything might crawl out from under it. Generally, it’s best not to go looking for something that might destroy you. She’s taken the bait. _Cancel her subscription to Good Decisions Weekly._

She’s rolled the dice and inevitably a Jumanji-level predicament is about to unfold. _Brilliant._


	4. nobody, of course, is kind, or mean, for a simple reason

Narcissa folds her hands together with the airs and graces of a queen. “It’s hardly a secret that I’m not thought highly of by most. It can’t be pleasant to be outed as the dirty bit on the side to one of the most hated women in the magical sphere. Rather a costly mistake for both of us, I fear.”

It rings out like a pistol shot. Like a rogue bludger that slams into Lily’s jaw sideways, leaving her with a mouthful of blood and teeth.

She hears the words but none of them make sense to her. She’s having trouble generating coherent thoughts. Her mind spirals as she tries to unpick all of the sinister tendrils that are tangling their way around her throat like Devil’s Snare. Drawing in a sharp, stilted breath, she tries to slow her sprinting pulse.

“Is that how you see me?” Hurt leeches into her voice despite her efforts to snuff it out. Narcissa’s tongue darts out to moisten the corner of her mouth. _That fucking mouth._ Whoever had the audacity to give her that mouth has a lot to answer for, because it’s going to be Lily’s demise.

“How else would I see you?” Narcissa replies flippantly, arching a sculpted eyebrow. It scratches at the walls of Lily’s heart and she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something that she’ll regret. She knows Narcissa’s faux nonchalance is a defence mechanism but it happens to _seriously fucking suck._

“Cut the crap. You may be a good actress but you don’t fool me.” Her chest compresses and it feels like every inch of her skin is contracting, squeezing so fiercely that her spine is at risk of slicing through her back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” _Damn it. Damn it to hell._ This is sheer bloody torture. Lily watches their shadows shifting on the wall behind them, comforted, if briefly, by the sight of them merging together. Even so, her patience is dangling by a thread. 

Lily can’t screw this up, can’t contemplate returning to a life devoid of Narcissa, because nothing will ever be the same again. Her beauty is so penetrating, so deep and all-consuming, that it makes everything else around her beautiful, too, and Lily can’t go back to seeing colours in only one dimension. Can’t return to an existence that is bland and flat and utterly meaningless. She _won’t._

“ _Don’t._ Don’t you _dare_ cheapen things between us by pretending this was just some sleazy roll in the hay for you.” _Shit,_ so much for subtle. The trajectory of this conversation might leave no survivors. Pins and needles simmer on her tongue with increasing intensity.

Things are about to head south very quickly. She might as well grab a shovel and start digging her own grave because this is going to be a bloodbath.

“There’s no need to be so sentimental, dear. It’s not very becoming.” 

Lily wants to scream. She wants to smash something. She wants to tear out her eardrums and slam them against the wall so that she can _think_ without a persistent orchestra of nails clawing against the inside of her skull. 

“Alright, maybe I’ve got this all wrong.” Fear twists like a spear in Lily’s stomach at even voicing the possibility out loud, though she knows that it’s not true. “But at least do yourself a favour and admit that it wasn’t a mistake. That you’re more capable of caring than anyone gives you credit for.”

It lands about as well as a grenade.

Narcissa makes a derisive noise that sits somewhere between a snort and a scoff. Whatever it is, Lily hates it. “I will do nothing of the sort, Miss Evans. You appear to be under a sorely false impression. I do not care about you at all.”

_Oh, for the love of—_

_Excellent._ Narcissa’s fangs are coming out in all their glory, filed into neat, efficient points. Ready to drain Lily’s resolve in the span of a second. Her bravado may be as transparent as glass but this bloody well stings.

It takes everything in Lily to stifle the mangled gasp that sneaks its way to the back of her teeth. Agony rises like one of Sybill’s awful predictions through her body. It feels like someone is crushing her windpipe.

 _Fine._ If Narcissa wants to play this little game, Lily will play it, reason be damned. She's a knight on a board of wizard’s chess, fighting for her vexatious queen. Likely to be headless very shortly. She’s already knee deep in trouble and apparently has no qualms about wading in further.

_What could possibly go wrong, other than literally everything?_

“Okay. _Okay,_ ” she mutters sardonically, though it’s not okay at all. “Maybe I really am nothing to you. But what about you? Andy knows. Must be nice to be seen as a wanton adulterer who’s so sex-starved she can’t even keep her whorish hands off a _filthy mudblood._ ”

Her eyes burn as she says the last words. They trail off into more a whimper, which Lily positively loathes, but Narcissa’s mask slips, unbridled remorse clouding her irises. She sucks in a shaky breath, staring at Lily like she’s just woken up from a sleeping draught.

 _“Lily…”_ Narcissa rasps, and it’s unclear whether it’s the start of an apology or a request for one. It doesn’t seem to matter, because the way that she says her name is like an absolution. Like _Lumos._ Like the purest kind of light. Lily watches Narcissa’s shoulders sag, her posture wilting, shedding its regalia. The pillows supporting her seem to magnify with the shift and she appears painfully small again.

“You’re not…” Narcissa whispers weakly, her eyes wet and haunted as she curls a hand around Lily’s cheek. Her head shakes back and forth as she bites her lip, clamping down on it so hard that it starts to lose colour.

Lily laughs in the most pitiful, hollow way, but she sinks into Narcissa’s touch. “Not what? A filthy mudblood? A dirty bit on the side? A _mistake?_ ” 

_“No,”_ Narcissa asserts, so firmly that it catches Lily off guard. Her mouth opens and closes several times before she manages to speak again. “You’re perfect.”

 _Fuck._ Lily does not expect that _at all_ and her smug expression morphs into one of absolute astonishment. Absolute _joy._

It should probably worry her that Narcissa has the power to snap her soul clean in two and then mend it without blinking but it doesn’t, because she’s never felt in safer hands. Because she knows that Narcissa doesn’t have a genuinely mean bone in her body. Because it’s all just smoke and mirrors, and carnival tricks are nothing compared to actual magic.

Loving Narcissa is _real_ magic, the kind that puts wands and cauldrons and dragon rides to shame. The kind that runs beneath the earth. The kind that comes as easily as breathing. The sort that breaks curses and turns frogs into princes and raises sleeping maidens from the dead. She might be a pain in the ass, but she’s _Lily’s_ pain in the ass.

Narcissa snatches a handful of Lily’s collar, melding their lips together in a silent truce. Oh _god,_ it’s been too long, far, _far_ too long since she last felt the delicious static that darts through her body, replacing every cell with whirring embers just begging to be stoked into being. Lily dissolves against her, yielding to the firm press of Narcissa’s tongue as it slips between her teeth, licking at the roof of her mouth.

Something imperceptible clicks into place as Narcissa curves a hand against the nape of Lily’s neck, dragging her forwards, nipping at the swell of her lips with an urgency that sparks like a flint. She breathes out a small, mewling noise that nearly sends Lily over the edge, dashing her brains against the brink of insanity. It’s so magnetic and tender that it feels like Narcissa has somehow peeled back Lily’s ribs and is kissing her heart.

The look on Lily’s face when they part must suggest precisely that, must lay plain more than she bargains for, because she feels Narcissa tense in her arms, her spine growing as taut as a violin string.

“Narcissa?” A ball of dread wells up in Lily’s throat, expanding with each second that ticks by. It seems that Narcissa is either too scared or too stubborn to unearth whatever stones of sadness are weighing down her pockets, whatever demons are swirling behind her eyes.

_“Sweetheart?”_

The term of endearment apparently keys into some secret compartment in her chest because Narcissa _breaks._

No one, not even the mirror, is allowed to see Narcissa cry under any other circumstances, but it seems that her barriers have fallen away, leaving her bare and gutted. It’s as if a wall of ice has shattered, sending shards of her grief flying everywhere.

Deep, guttural cries pour forth like a tsunami as Narcissa clutches her stomach, large, pearly tears streaking down her cheeks with relentless vigour. Her hands clench and open at her sides helplessly, absolute horror at her own vulnerability distorting her features into a face that Lily hardly recognises. 

“I’m sorry,” Narcissa sobs, bringing her fingers up to touch the ridge of Lily’s jaw, her eyes flickering wildly. “I’m _so_ sorry. I didn’t mean it, not any of it. _Please,_ I didn’t—” 

The sight of her suffering, unable to finish because she’s too overcome by weeping, lacerates Lily down to the marrow. Lily’s skin is sore from her own salty tears.

“Come here, my darling,” Lily murmurs, her voice so thick with emotion that it’s hard to get the words out into anything other than a strangled sequence of barely discernible syllables. 

She opens her arms and Narcissa collapses into them as if her bones have turned to dust. A slim hand curls around Lily’s spine as Narcissa crumples against her, hunching almost in half, clinging to Lily like she’s the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.

How does it always feel like lightning, being this close to her? Lily wants to hold onto her forever and never let go. Never let anything bad happen to her again.

“You’re safe now, baby. I’ve got you,” Lily promises against her ear. “You’re safe.” 

Narcissa’s arms wind securely around Lily’s waist. She tucks her face against the well of Lily’s neck as she cries and cries, her tears soaking the hem of her shirt. The sky outside of the window is inky black but filled with a symphony of stars. Lily caresses Narcissa’s back, tracing symbols and sigils as if they might somehow ward off any darkness that tries to filter in.

In an effort to calm her, Lily sings against her hair, pressing soft kisses against her scalp between each line.

A rumbling, wet laugh spills from Narcissa’s mouth, though she does not make any attempt to move. “Not a single one of those notes was in key.” She lifts her dark eyes for less than a second before burying her face again.

“And here I was thinking I could be the next Celestina Warbeck,” Lily chuckles, twirling a blonde strand around her finger. “I’ll have to rethink my career plans.”

Narcissa laughs harder, swatting Lily’s chest. Her damp nose travels to the dip of Lily’s shoulder, nudging aside her collar. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I could be more ridiculous, if you’d like,” Lily teases, slipping her hand under the back of Narcissa’s shirt. The coldness of her skin never fails to baffle Lily, but it’s a coldness that she’s come to adore.

“I _missed_ you,” Lily hears, though it’s muffled against her clavicle, brimming with contrition and affection.

Frantic hands clutch at any part of Lily that they can reach, seeking comfort from the solid presence in front of her as Narcissa continues to sob and sob. Like she can’t get close enough, even though there’s no space left between them. Like she’s begging for forgiveness.

Her words hit Lily like the first time she lifted a leaf with her wand. Like her first taste of butterbeer. Like the first day she rode a broom, the feeling of her feet leaving the ground and the freedom that swelled in her chest as she rose higher and higher. The exhilarating sense that she might never return to the earth. Like the first lesson when she brewed a perfect potion, so dizzy from her achievement that she nearly knocked over her cauldron and set fire to her desk. 

She would give up every one of those memories, _every one,_ for the untempered bliss that floods her body at Narcissa’s soft admission.

Lily breathes against Narcissa’s hair, inhaling the rich scent of raspberry jam and parma violets that she’s come to associate with home. 

Narcissa is _home._

“I missed you, too,” Lily whispers, cupping Narcissa’s face and bringing it forwards to kiss her chin, her eyelids, the paths of her tears. _Shit,_ there it is, that little smile tiptoeing back to life. Lily kisses that as well because she’s far too smart to deny the impulse. 

“I wanted desperately to see you,” Narcissa confesses against Lily’s mouth, her fingers squeezing the flesh above Lily’s hipbones. Their weeping slows, tapering off into heavy, wet breaths. One catches in Lily’s throat at Narcissa’s words.

A few candles have burnt down to the nub, leaving the strange smell of singed wicks in the room. It seems darker without them and more shadows spill across their bodies. “I was so worried,” Lily admits honestly, taking one of Narcissa’s hands and running a thumb across her knuckles. “I thought the snatchers might have got their grimy paws on my best friend.” 

Lily’s attempt to lighten the mood turns like a bad penny. An awkward beat passes between them as Narcissa swallows, studying Lily’s face for the joke, the sneer, the indication that Lily is mocking her. It never comes. 

Narcissa doesn’t reply for a long time, instead tucking her head beneath Lily’s chin, listening to the rise and fall of her heartbeat. She plays with the buttons on Lily’s shirt, circling them and pinching them between her fingers. Intermittently, her fingertips sneak under the gaps between them, rubbing gentle patterns over Lily’s skin beneath. 

Eventually, she leans back, sending Lily a warm, slow smile that reaches her eyes. The clouds blotting out the moon have finally cleared and light sneaks in from the window, spilling over the contours of Narcissa’s face. Lily’s throat goes dry. She looks ethereal. _Like an angel._ “You’re mine, too. Although, admittedly, I—I suppose that I don’t have any others.”

She grins sheepishly. Her voice is so laden with fondness and trust that it cracks Lily in half. _She doesn’t deserve it._ It’s a catalyst that opens the floodgates to a whole separate chamber of blame that rushes over Lily in an unstoppable tidal wave.

Her mouth feels like sandpaper. “I’m sorry,” Lily says meekly, retching against sawdust and shame, struggling to get a foothold on any minute shred of composure. Her frame is overcome by tremors. Narcissa’s eyes widen in alarm, her hands rushing up to cradle Lily’s face. Tears splash over the backs of her thumbs as she tries to catch them. “I’m sorry,” Lily cries, over and over, the sounds stitching together like a chant, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I’m sorry.”

“What could you possibly have to be sorry for, my darling?” Narcissa presses her lips to Lily’s forehead, trying to gather her closer even though it’s impossible. 

Lily releases a shuddering breath that is so laboured it reverberates through Narcissa’s body. How can she even begin to apologise for all of the things that expand like rot in her gut? 

“For pushing. For not being there. For—this is _my_ fault,” Lily sobs, fighting against the violent guilt that overtakes her being and refuses to be denied. 

Her cheeks are blotchy and her chest aches and she can’t stomach how _selfish_ this is when Narcissa is in so much pain, and it’s a cyclical agony that just keeps getting worse and worse. She tries to tidy herself up with the back of her hand but she’s fighting a losing battle.

 _“No,”_ Narcissa practically shouts, her fingers raking through Lily’s hair, needy and sure. She crushes her lips against Lily’s in a scorching kiss, as if trying to convey something that words will not cover. Lily can taste salt and sweetness, a jarring combination that eats away at her regret and replaces it with nothing but an awareness of Narcissa’s soft skin against her own. 

All too soon, Narcissa is gone, her head jerked back against the pillows behind her. Lily is fine-tuned to every subtle shift of her moods and she can feel the exact moment that Narcissa retreats inwardly, her body going rigid and motionless against the headboard.

“This—this was _my—_ ” Narcissa gulps, shaking her head, her lips forming into a straight line. She drops her gaze to her lap. “I should have put a stop to this before but I—I just—I _couldn’t,_ and that will always be my cross to bear. Not yours. _Never_ yours. This—” She gestures vaguely at her face, closing her eyes. _“Lucius—”_

She looks so frightened, so fragile, that Lily won’t let her continue. She presses one palm against Narcissa’s, holding on tightly, intertwining their fingers. 

“I will kill him,” Lily states, so matter-of-factly and with such conviction that Narcissa snatches in a sharp breath. Her other hand finds Narcissa’s cheek, careful not to press too hard against the sensitive skin. “I will _kill_ him. With my bare hands if necessary, I don’t need magic.”

Narcissa’s pained eyes snap to Lily’s like sinkholes, swimming with something unreadable. “I deserved it,” Narcissa chokes, her voice gravelly and lashes once again beaded with tears. The glint of her irises is so spellbinding that Lily can’t look away, even though they betray a lifetime of anguish and loneliness. Even though they unleash something almost feral inside of Lily’s abdomen. “I deserved it and worse.”

“ _No._ There’s nothing you could do to deserve this. _Nothing._ It’s barbaric.” Lily draws back just far enough to pull their joined hands to her lips, sealing a tender kiss against each bump of Narcissa’s knuckles. “I won’t let him hurt you anymore. I can promise you that.”

She places another kiss against her palm, and for the first time notices that Narcissa is no longer wearing that hideous shackle of a skull ring given to her by Lucius, though she doesn't dare to hope that Sirius might have been right.

Though hope _what,_ exactly? They’ve never given a name to this _thing_ between them. Never voiced their feelings or spoken their wants out loud.

Still, the way that Narcissa’s face lights up when she greets her, the emotions that sometimes swirl in her eyes, just for Lily, and Lily alone, make her see stars. Make her delirious with a kind of happiness that she never dreamt that she would get to experience. She knows without a shadow of a doubt that the only thing that she hopes for, the only thing that she _wants,_ is to make Narcissa equally as happy, always.

_Oh, hell._

“I think Bella already saw to that,” Narcissa replies, with a hint of something that might be satisfaction lurking just at the surface. She quirks an eyebrow. “One advantage of having a sister who’s as mad as a hatter.”

A pause hangs between them and Lily licks nervously at her lips. “Never thought I’d see the day when I’d want to hug her, yet here we are,” she quips, and to her absolute delight, Narcissa laughs. A bright, wet sound that lodges against Lily’s ribs, sending rays of sunshine throughout her whole body. 

Narcissa’s lips twitch and Lily feels like her own grin might keep travelling all the way around her head until the top pops off. Lily can’t stop herself from admiring the arch of Narcissa’s mouth, the slope of her neck, the little wisps of hair that curl around her ears, a perfect mingling of light and dark. She’s so beautiful that it hurts.

Narcissa runs a thumb over the maroon hem of Lily’s collar. Mirth twinkles in her eyes. “You’re wearing your pyjamas.” 

Lily ducks a nod, feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious. “Well, yes, I—uh, came here rather… _speedily_ when I heard. There wasn’t time to change.” There wasn’t time for _anything,_ and Lily wonders if Narcissa catches the statement for what it is, proof that she’s so far gone that it’s almost comical.

An icy but smooth hand moulds against the curve of Lily’s jaw, electricity sparking through her at the contact, and her chest thrums with emotion. She tilts her face against Narcissa’s fingers, her eyelids fluttering closed.

When she opens them again, Narcissa is regarding her with a small, sad expression that brings a lump to her throat. She looks like she might cry again, smile or not.

“Why? Why did you come?” Narcissa asks tentatively, her eyes impossibly dark and shining with tears. She appears so uncertain, so lost in that moment, that Lily doesn’t know how to answer.

What can she say, really, that won’t give away precisely how much Narcissa means to her? That won’t make it unequivocally obvious that she’s somehow, against all odds, _madly_ in love with her?


	5. a craziness we so far have no name for

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This section is undeniably corny in places and descends into borderline crack towards the end, but there we go. ;)
> 
> Any comments/likes are much appreciated. :D

Lily’s heart hammers against her ribs, so furiously that there’s a very real possibility that it’s going to make its way out of her skin and into Narcissa’s hands for inspection.

Silence hangs murky and stifling in the air. She can feel the throb of Narcissa’s heartbeat quickening beneath her chest where they remain pressed together, and her own pulse beats violently.

Her mind drifts to a future that she can finally admit to herself that she wants beyond measure. Waking up to Narcissa’s sleepy face, half buried against her pillow, serene and peaceful after a night of unhurried pleasure. Lazy mornings. Sneaking up behind her as she makes omelettes in the kitchen to wrap languid arms around her waist. Peppering kisses against the back of her pale neck. 

Breakfast. Bickering. Full-blown fights that erupt over cereal choices. Holding her hand as she sips her coffee with cream and reads The Daily Prophet, critiquing each article as she goes. Coming home to her after a long shift of preparing herbs and brewing tinctures. Perhaps even a tiny bundle of curls toddling to greet her, with bright red hair and dark eyes.

Narcissa’s wondrous, blinding smile, every day.

_Happiness._

Unfortunately, Lily’s failure to reply does not go unnoticed by Narcissa and is misread entirely. Lily only realises that she hasn’t answered when Narcissa’s low, trembling voice hobbles out between them. 

“I want to thank you, Lily, for all that you’ve given me. It’s been such a wonderful, blissful dream, and I will never forget it for as long as I live.” Her bottom lip quakes and she catches it between her teeth to stop its movements.

Lily’s heart lurches. There is a finality to the way that Narcissa is speaking and a feeling of utter dread spreads through her stomach, threatening every fibre of her being. Goosebumps prickle at her flesh. She feels like she’s at the side of cliff with her toes over the edge, wobbling between solid ground and total annihilation. Praying that the fall is quick. 

“I assume you’ve gathered that I left Lucius. I want to try to be a better person. To make things right, impossible as that may be. I’ve made so many unforgivable choices.” Narcissa brings her hands together, issuing a scoff through her nose before drawing in a shaky breath. “But you showed me that I mean something on my own. That I still have something to offer. Perhaps—well, arguably not a lot, but... _enough._ ”

Narcissa’s fingers pick at the material of the cover in front of her. Her jaw shakes as she opens it to continue and she has to slam it shut again before she manages to go on. “I want you to know, however, that I don’t expect anything further between us. I know that you’d _never_ —that it’s not—not what _this_ was for you,” Narcissa reels off at frightening speed. 

Gone is the well-versed woman who delivers insults so expertly that the recipients accept them with gratitude. “I realise that our—that this has an expiry date that perhaps we’ve reached, and you— _that is to say_ —you’ve more than upheld your part of any unspoken bargain that we may have made.”

Lily regards her with absolute dismay, distress etched across her features. Every muscle in her body is tight with worry and she can scarcely remember how to think.

Narcissa swallows thickly, tears cascading down her cheeks unbidden. “I know what I am, and I—I must accept that it’s only—merely a matter of time before you realise it, too. How black my heart is. That I’m—that I’m not worth the trouble, and _then_ what will I do?” She’s rambling, stumbling over her words, talking more to herself than Lily. The insecurity that rolls from her is so harrowing that Lily would be hard pressed to recall her own name as she stares in horror.

She laughs, the most horrible, breath-snatching laugh, and Lily wants to push it straight back into her mouth so that she never hears it again. “I’ve been so _foolish,_ ” Narcissa sobs, her chest heaving with the effort of wrenching out words that she’s kept hidden for months. She looks so sad and unsure, and Lily hates it, she really does.

Narcissa’s eyes pinch tightly shut as a grotesque, raspy cry falls from her lips. Her hushed tone is so faint, so tiny and fragile, that Lily has to strain to hear her next sentence. “Only, how could I help it?”

Her whole face is bunched up, every inch of skin twisted and tense. “I should hate you. You’re a loose canon - impulsive and hotheaded and _atrocious_ at anything that remotely requires concentration,” Narcissa frowns, though there’s no malice behind her words. “You’re clumsy and obstinate,” she sniffs, attempting to bat away tears that refuse to stop pouring, “and frustrating and unreasonable, and—and, _wonderful._ ” 

Long fingers clamp over Narcissa’s mouth, smothering a gut-wrenching whine. “You stomped in with your _stupid_ , gormless grin and threw chaos all over my tidy sham of a life,” Narcissa wails, wriggling to turn away from Lily’s bewildered gaze, “and you made it completely _impossible_ for me to do anything other than fall _hopelessly_ in love with you.”

Lily can’t breathe. For a moment that’s all there is, the total inability to successfully wrestle air into her lungs. It’s entirely possible that she’s having some sort of respiratory event. 

But then there’s Narcissa, totally, ravishingly gorgeous in front of her, looking so forlorn and defeated that Lily wants to bind them together in such a way that will erase every past hurt, every lonely tear. She’s so undeniably beautiful that Lily’s brain is having trouble operating. She regards Narcissa with wide eyes, completely incapable of speaking, struggling to comprehend her words.

When she finally catches up, Lily lets a delirious giggle pass her lips, even as she wheezes against a flurry of tears that start to fall unannounced. Narcissa’s eyes shoot open to find Lily grinning and grinning, so exorbitantly happy that it’s probably coming off as manic. Narcissa’s brows knit together. She appears stunned, as if contemplating whether or not to be offended. 

Okay, _scratch that,_ she seems fucking furious, but Lily is unable to stop laughing, nearly choking with relief.

 _Of course._ She should have expected that Narcissa would be so astronomically _absurd_ and assume that Lily wouldn't return her feelings. That Lily could ever, for even a second, not want her. They are a _mess._ A dense, chaotic, _perfect_ mess.

“Are you quite finished?” Narcissa snaps, her jaw clamping crossly. “I admit that may not have been the most eloquent thing I’ve ever said but I fail to see what’s so funny. You’re being incredibly rude.” 

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” Lily chuckles, taking Narcissa’s face between her hands and bringing their foreheads together. She can feel Narcissa’s warm breath ghosting over her chin. “You’re an idiot. My silly, adorable _idiot._ ”

Narcissa’s mouth hangs open, no doubt ready to level her with an insult. All the better for Lily’s purposes. 

“ _Excuse me,_ Lily Evans. I do not apprec—”

Whatever Narcissa doesn’t appreciate is tossed by the wayside as Lily dips forwards, slanting her lips over the prettiest pair in the world. _Her favourite lips._ She barely manages to kiss Narcissa because she’s still grinning so hard.

Narcissa makes a tiny, startled noise at the back of her throat that Lily abruptly concludes that she wants to hear for the rest of her life. Her hands tangle insistently into red locks, tugging Lily as close as she can. This kiss is far less frenzied than their usual kisses, less harsh, though just as intoxicating. Just as likely to leave Lily in a pile of cinders.

She wraps her hands around the backs of Narcissa’s knees, freeing her from the covers and rolling them until Narcissa is in Lily’s lap with her legs firmly planted on either side of her waist. Miraculously, their mouths remain fused together.

She breaks away just long enough to press devout kisses over Narcissa’s cheeks, her smile lines, the tip of her nose. “You are worth everything, my darling,” Lily swears, trailing her lips to the shell of Narcissa’s ear to make sure that there’s no mistaking what she wants to say next. She takes the lobe between her teeth. “You are _everything._ ”

A current of electricity surges through her. She feels like she’s floating somewhere near the ceiling, lifted by the giddy ecstasy that fluoresces inside of her chest, growing bigger and bigger. The weightless liberation that comes from finally being able to express what she’s clenched in her fists for so long is almost too much to withstand. 

She catches Narcissa’s answering whimper from her mouth, licking into it to ensure that her tongue is too occupied to disagree. It’s so endlessly dizzying that she feels freer than she ever remembers. _Whole._ Lily can feel Narcissa smiling against her lips and all of her worries disappear into smoke, until she’s conscious of nothing but a delicious jumble of _Narcissa,_ everywhere.

Eventually, her lungs burn too much to continue and she reluctantly pulls back. The eyes that meet hers are hooded and slightly glazed, glossy in a way that conveys so much love that it’s difficult not to cry again. Narcissa slips her arms around Lily’s neck, smiling down at her as a curtain of hair falls around them.

Lily runs her fingertips over Narcissa’s chest, tracing the constellation of freckles that shines from dewy skin. “I know you, Narcissa. I _know_ you,” Lily asserts softly, determined to lay everything on the line once and for all. To make sure that there’s no room left for any doubt in Narcissa’s mind. “You’re pedantic and bossy and so melodramatic it’s unreal. Probably even Oscar-worthy. You’re bullheaded beyond belief and infuriatingly stubborn and your refusal to be wrong is absolutely bloody maddening.”

She drags in a deep breath, steeling herself to continue although her nerves are shot to pieces. “You’re cavalier and neurotic and you _suck_ at crosswords, which is ironic given their name. You're easily bored and judgmental and childish, and you can be so horrendously vain that I might as well glue a mirror to your face.”

The hand resting at the nape of Lily’s neck begins to draw slow, comforting circles around the bump of bone at the top of her spine. It’s enough to ground her, which is fortunate because she’s babbling like an uncorked bottle of shaken champagne. 

“You’re abrasive and proud and the way you drive is borderline illegal. As in, you genuinely should not be behind the wheel at any point ever. You’re worryingly good at lying, even though you’re _terrible_ at lying to me, and your tongue has enough gunpowder to demolish anyone without warning in about three seconds flat.” Narcissa regards Lily with a puzzled frown, though amusement plays in her eyes. 

“Seriously, don’t even get me _started_ on your horrible temper because we will be here until we’re both too ancient to stand,” Lily finishes, running her finger down the bridge of Narcissa’s nose.

“Is that so?” Narcissa’s irises are dangerously black, but there’s a tug of a smile flirting at her lips, despite how fervently she might try to deny it. Lily can’t resist kissing her for good measure. Spindly, cold fingers interlock at the base of Lily’s neck, stroking gently.

“It is. You have no idea how crazy you make me,” Lily chuckles, following the curve of Narcissa’s waist with her hands. “But you also have the cutest angry face, all scrunched and intimidating in this way that makes my brain go haywire. You’re keenly observant and brilliantly smart. I could listen to you talk about anything for hours and hours without even noticing how much time has passed.”

Her fingers splay against Narcissa’s back, tracing aimless patterns against the silk of her nightshirt. “And you’re funny. You’re _so_ funny, sometimes without even realising, and your laugh— _god,_ it’s going to be the death of me but I’d be glad to die hearing something so beautiful.”

She stares at Narcissa, her eyes shamelessly misty, and Narcissa stares right back with equally teary cheeks. “You take no shit and you never back down even when you’re scared, which is honestly nothing short of extraordinary. _You’re_ extraordinary.”

Lily has to stop for a moment to gather herself. She feels almost faint as the tension that she’s been lugging around since the start of it all gradually dissipates from her body.

She slides her hands under Narcissa’s shirt and begins to draw letters over her skin, practicing her words before she speaks them into existence. “You’re generous and sweet and you’re _good,_ no matter what any other dimwit might think. No matter what _you_ might think. You can try to hide it behind layers of starched velvet and snippy remarks but I _know_ you, and you are the most kindhearted person I’ve ever met. A _good_ person.” 

Narcissa shakes her head in denial, sucking her lip between her teeth. Deep lines appear between her brows as she lowers her eyes. “Sweetheart, look at me. You’re _good._ ” Narcissa releases a watery sob that it seems like she might have been holding for years, bowing against Lily and burrowing her face into her shoulder.

Lily dances her hands over the length of Narcissa’s spine, waiting patiently until Narcissa finally lifts her head. She looks at Lily with a mixture of adoration and wonder. “Most of all, your smile—your _smile_ is the most dazzling thing on this planet. It makes me go weak at the knees. It saturates everything else with the most spellbinding colours, and I—I mean— _fuck,_ Narcissa, you just make me so incomparably _happy._ ”

The doe-eyed, hopeful expression on Narcissa’s face would probably compel the great artists to spare one glance at their own masterpieces and start again from scratch. Would probably lure sirens from the sea and lull mandrake roots into silence. 

Perhaps, more importantly, it inspires Lily to falter forwards with unwavering courage. To let her heart be open enough to pluck out the words that are embroidered into its very fabric. 

“We’re almost definitely going to argue every single day like complete prats but I _want_ that. I want _this_ \- to be with you.” Lily sniffs, kissing over Narcissa’s wet eyelashes. “Not some imagined version of you that you’ve invented for propriety’s sake. Not some other person who you think you need to be to deserve me, do you understand?”

With a shuddering breath, Narcissa nods and Lily rewards her with a mega-watt grin. “I want _you,_ ” Lily states, scattering soft pecks over Narcissa’s cheeks and nose. “Every bit of you. Every jagged edge and every sharp sliver. Every less than perfect part. _Yes,_ there are things we _both_ need to work on, but we can muddle through together, okay?”

Adrenaline surges through her veins. She cradles Narcissa’s face in her fingers, smiling sheepishly and praying that her tongue doesn’t stop cooperating for her final admission. _It’s now or never,_ and never is not an option. Her palms are clammy and she gulps, but she’s flooded with a serene sense of calm as she stares into the depths of Narcissa’s eyes. 

“It’s a _privilege_ to love you, just _you,_ exactly as you are,” she whispers, willing her voice to exude every ounce of elation that she feels, "and I _do_. You’re a total fucking _nightmare_ and I’m ridiculously, _outrageously_ in love with you.” 

In her lifetime, Lily has been fortunate enough to bear witness to miracles in many forms. She’s seen sunrises in the south of France and watched dragon eggs hatching, transfixed by tiny wings as they beat for the first time. There have been weddings and graduations and more Christmas festivities than she can count. 

She thinks wistfully about scoring her very first goal, cheered on by a crowd of supporters with her parents in the stands. One of her proudest moments. She remembers the day that she held her acceptance letter in her hands, the sheer excitement and anticipation that brought her younger self to tears.

There’s Molly’s warm kitchen and Alice’s bear hugs and Remus’s practical jokes, which usually create havoc. There’s Sirius’s dry wit and Arthur’s guffaws and Pomona’s endless patience as she teaches her about plants. Snow melting into spring every year and Nymphadora’s first little squeals of ‘Auntie Lee-lee.’

Yet nothing has even come moderately close to the transcendent beauty that Lily experiences as the widest, most glorious smile that she’s ever seen blooms across Narcissa’s face, sending incandescent light in all directions. She’s never been so grateful for her Gryffindor bravery.

A lovely, pink blush dawns over Narcissa’s cheekbones, spreading to the tips of her ears. Lily’s own cheeks, she suspects, are rosier than a Weasley’s. 

“You are?” Narcissa’s silky voice brims with absolute awe, eyes crimping in the corners and shining damply. 

“Yes. _I am._ ” The flush travels further, skirting down to the top of Narcissa’s chest. She dips forwards with a sob, mewling against Lily’s neck, planting hot, needy kisses against her skin.

With the barest grain of clearheadedness remaining, Lily trips over one intelligible thought. 

“Wait, I almost forgot,” she utters, slightly breathlessly. 

She stretches towards the end of the bed, grabbing at the very corner of her coat in an effort to yank it closer. After a small amount of fumbling in her pocket, her fingers close around a hard object. She encases it with her hand, shielding it from Narcissa’s view as she pulls it out. 

With a lopsided grin and slightly red cheeks, Lily extends it towards Narcissa, unfurling her fist. 

A figurine of a little witch with shockingly red hair, complete with a spell book in one hand and a potions vial in the other, sits between them. The words _‘you be-witch me’_ twine around the base in a gold font. It’s the most gaudy and visually offensive addition to Narcissa’s collection of muggle witch ornaments that Lily could possibly find. 

“It’s _you,_ ” Narcissa beams, issuing a gleeful laugh that is almost childlike, taking the gift and cradling it in her open palm. One of her arms hangs over Lily’s shoulder, curling tighter as her gaze flits between Lily and the trinket. The smile that adorns her face could ward off dementors, no patronus needed. She arches forwards, pressing a chaste kiss to Lily’s lips. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t start poking pins into it and trying to twist its head off.”

Narcissa chuckles, dusting a kiss against the figurine that Lily swears that she can feel against her own forehead before setting it down on the nightstand.

“I _love_ you,” Narcissa whispers, flinging her arms around Lily, embracing her so fiercely that the buttons of Lily’s shirt dig into her skin. Lily doesn’t care. She’ll take a bit of soreness any day if it means seeing Narcissa so unguardedly happy.

“I love you,” she repeats, over and over like an incantation, like an act of deliverance, nosing along Lily’s jaw and bringing her lips up to hover over Lily’s mouth.

There must be a number of Blacks twisting and turning in their graves, which pleases Lily far more than it should.

“I love you, too.” Lily bends, erasing the gap between them. Her hands slide to cup Narcissa’s face, holding her steady as she seals kiss after kiss against her smile. 

Narcissa’s eyes are glassy when they part, her lips delectably swollen, and Lily’s head is so foggy that she feels like she’s been through a blitz attack. The scent of Narcissa’s perfume, the silky fabric of her shirt beneath Lily’s fingers, the messy waves of her hair, all combine to set every inch of Lily ablaze. 

“Will you stay tonight?” Narcissa asks softly, running her fingertips over the hollow of Lily’s throat. “You are welcome to borrow some of my things. I just—if you need to go that’s fine, of course, but I’d feel—”

With Lily’s senses as jumbled as they are, it takes her a while to realise that Narcissa is speaking. When she finally processes her words, she entwines Narcissa’s fidgeting hands with her own.

“Hey, I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Lily kisses over her knuckles, paying equal attention to each notch. “Unfortunately you’re stuck with me and my snoring.”

That seems to settle Narcissa and she releases a bated breath, rewarding Lily with another one of those earth-shattering smiles. “I suppose I can live with that,” she replies with a false little sigh, her eyes twinkling with merriment, “as long as you don’t steal the covers.” Her toes glide up under the hem at Lily’s ankle, freezing as ever. It’s the best feeling in the universe, magical or otherwise.

Lily tries to respond with a grumbled noise of outrage but it’s an obvious bluff. “Says the one who’s a world-class thief.”

Narcissa narrows her eyes at the accusation, walking her fingers over the buttons of Lily’s shirt. “I have never stolen anything in my life, Miss Evans.”

“Nope, I beg to differ. You’ve stolen a lot of things.” Lily shoots Narcissa her wonkiest grin, grazing her thumb against Narcissa’s kneecap before lifting her hand to list off items as she goes. “My breath away. My sanity. My heart.”

Narcissa barks out a laugh, though she attempts a look of abject disapproval. “That was _awful,_ Lily, even for you.” She’s not even hiding the fact that she’s smiling anymore. “Are you always going to be this insufferable?”

“Oh, it’s only going to get worse, I assure you,” Lily giggles, smacking her lips against Narcissa’s cheek in the most exaggerated way possible. 

She expects Narcissa to offer at least a half-hearted protest, but instead she’s met with a long pause before Narcissa’s low voice rolls out. “Do you promise?” Long arms wind around Lily’s neck and Narcissa observes her with a serious expression. The deeper meaning behind her question is unmissable and Lily’s chest expands with starlight.

“I _do._ ” She nudges her nose against Narcissa’s, giving her a quick peck before gesturing towards the window, urging Narcissa to look outside. “It’s still snowing and you know what that means? Tomorrow I want to see you in a beanie.”

“Not on your life, my darling,” Narcissa retorts, her eyes gleaming. 

Lily doesn’t have as much time to stare dopily at Narcissa as she’d like because all of a sudden, out of nowhere, a basket of muffins appears with a harsh thump on the bedside table, sending a few other objects, as well as their mugs, flying off the edge. The fact that the figurine remains in place is a small mercy. It's official, she's never making tea again.

“ _What_ in the name of…” Narcissa begins, but Lily barely registers her incredulous voice as she picks up the card on top of the baked treats. The scratchy, precise handwriting that lines the note is easily recognisable. She reads the message aloud.

_“Narcissa, my dear - I am thinking of you.  
Share these with Lily. She’s rather fond of lemon curd, as I’m sure you know.  
Minerva  
PS. If anyone has anything to say on the matter, you know where to find me.”_

Lily raises an eyebrow as she finishes, dropping the paper back onto the nightstand. “Well, that is…” She licks her lips, wincing, searching for the right word, _“thoughtful.”_

“More like horrifying,” Narcissa mutters, wrinkling her nose in distaste, but they both dissolve into laughter. Narcissa slips her hands around the back of Lily’s neck again, lacing her fingers together. 

“I don’t even want to _speculate_ about how she knows any of this,” Narcissa huffs, though it’s evident that she’s finds it humorous. 

“Sometimes, my darling, with Minerva, it’s best not to ask.”

A little while later, they take turns in the ensuite. Lily emerges in one of Narcissa’s blue nightgowns, humming with content after a refreshing shower. The water washed away some of the stiffness from her bones and she feels lighter than she has in a long time. Narcissa greets her with an adoring, ethereal little beam that does things to her heart that she wants to feel forever. 

She gathers up her coat from the end of the bed, scanning the room for a less obstructive place to put it. Narcissa crouches by the fireplace, adding logs to the flames. As she stands, she sweeps a finger along the mantel, a look of disgust pulling at her features. With a heavy sigh, Narcissa flicks her wand and a hook materialises on the back of the bathroom door.

“I think that you’d better hang that up," Narcissa states firmly, though there’s something vixen-like in her tone. “It’s rather dusty in here, I don’t trust the wardrobe.” Lily snorts, shaking her head and moving to do just that.

“Luckily,” Narcissa husks, suddenly close enough for Lily to feel her hot breath against the back of her neck, “I plan to do a lot of polishing this evening.” She spins Lily around with a wry smirk, pushing her towards the bed with a predatory glint in her eyes. 

_Holy shit. Lily is a goner._

Determined not to be beaten, Lily grabs a fistful of Narcissa’s lace slip, yanking her forwards. She makes a very undignified and altogether exhilarating noise that is practically a squeak as she topples onto Lily, her bare thighs landing either side of a trim waist. 

After that, all logical thought goes out of the window.

They will work through the rest later. It’s going to be whole barrels full of complicated. Lily has been through a divorce of her own and she knows how acrimonious they can be. The Malfoys are a powerful family and whatever proceedings are to follow will almost definitely be rife with ruthless tactics and nasty obstacles, but Lily is ready. She will do whatever it takes, _whatever it takes,_ to keep Narcissa by her side, _safe._ Safe, and _smiling._


	6. equal seekers of sweetness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the major delay in posting - life got in the way and I took a little break. I hope this update makes up for it. :)
> 
> This chapter is a bonus chapter that was just clanging around in my brain, and there will still be one more to follow - I have zero self control so here we are.
> 
> This one is just dumb fluff.
> 
> Sirius and some familiar faces will make an appearance in the final chapter, so stay tuned. 
> 
> This still need some editing, but I will come back and iron out any crinkles.
> 
> Please let me know if you enjoy it. :)

When Lily wakes the next day, her limbs ache in the most wonderful of ways. A mess of blonde and dark hair is fanned against her collarbone, tickling her nose. She is unable to temper the grin that wedges her lips open, pinning back her cheeks so thoroughly that they hurt. The miracle circled inside of her arms is still sleeping, calm and untroubled, and Lily doesn’t have the heart to disturb her just yet. 

It’s such a simple thing, opening droopy eyes in the morning to find Narcissa beside her. Simple, and also not simple at all. For Lily, the fact that Narcissa is tangible, the fact that she’s real and not just a figment of her imagination, is a genuine _‘slice of paradise’_. A dream come true.

She waits patiently as rays of daylight trickle in from the window, draping their warmth over Narcissa’s shoulders, and an unmatched peace settles through her marrow. She parts Narcissa’s fringe with the pad of her finger, watching as long eyelashes begin to flutter and pink lips twitch. 

Narcissa’s rich, slightly croaky voice creeps out over Lily’s skin. “Is there coffee?”

Lily laughs, drawing stars over the small of Narcissa’s back. Every molecule in her body crackles like fireworks. “Coffee can be arranged, your highness.”

Fabric rustles as Narcissa shifts, opening her eyes and squinting against the light. When they finally meet Lily’s, a bright, gleaming smile skids across Narcissa’s lips, like a daisy growing up through concrete. 

“You’re really here,” Narcissa rasps, with a little chuckle that teeters on a whimper. Her fingers skim the length of Lily’s torso, rising to trail over her clavicle. She looks like she might have expected to find herself in a very different room, with cold sheets and colder company. _Thank fuck that’s not the case._ The way that she peers up at Lily is so profoundly _warm_ that every inch of Lily’s flesh feels as if it has been lit with a match. 

“It would appear so,” Lily teases, rubbing her nose against an icy cheek. A hand bunches into the material at Lily’s waist, gripping tightly. There's a small grumble as Lily stretches her legs, readying to traipse down to the kitchen. 

“No,” Narcissa whines, her fingers digging in more firmly, “don’t move.” She wriggles up, hiding her face against Lily’s shoulder. Hot breath spills over Lily’s neck, along with something else that feels a lot more like tears. _Shit._ Narcissa shivers in her arms and Lily gathers her closer, stroking the crown of her head. Wet lashes move against her jaw.

“I thought my queen wanted coffee?” Lily teases, dropping a kiss against dark hair. There’s more grumbling, along with a gurgled, hiccuping sound. The palms of Lily’s hands travel over the dimples at the base of Narcissa’s spine. 

"I changed my mind.” Narcissa’s tone is reasonably level, but Lily can hear her trying to control her breathing. It’s not altogether surprising, but it almost winds Lily nonetheless. 

She cups Narcissa’s face, running her fingertips just below her waterline. “Come on, my morning bedhead isn’t that bad.” She offers her best roguish grin, kissing the tip of a cold nose. Her usual waves are twisted into Medusa-worthy curls that will likely snap any brush in half. _Thank goddess for magic._

Narcissa laughs, prodding Lily’s sternum. “I beg to differ,” she asserts, with an uppity little smile that twangs Lily’s heart like a mandolin. The insult seems like a positive sign, though Narcissa would probably wear that smirk and fire out barbs at the guillotine. 

A light chuckle swims up from Lily’s lungs, though the air feels heavy. She pauses, stroking Narcissa’s cheekbone. “Are you alright, my darling?”

Dark eyes find Lily’s, lingering briefly before flitting away. Narcissa shuffles slightly, propping herself up on Lily’s chest and resting her chin on her folded hands. Her eyelashes flicker and she drags her lip between her teeth, pulling it back inside her mouth. 

“I’m—I’m better than I’ve ever been, I think,” Narcissa confesses, casting aside her contemplative expression and giving in to a tender smile. There's a damp sheen in the groove beneath her nose that shimmers as she moves.

“That's good,” Lily says quietly, against a flurry of beating butterfly wings that flap in her throat. “That’s very good.” She seals a kiss over Narcissa’s temple, then one to the edge of her mouth, doing her utmost not to cry. 

Narcissa issues a pleased sigh, shifting her limbs again to loop her arms around Lily’s neck. Her knee slips between Lily’s legs, impatiently nudging them apart. Lily tugs her forwards, hugging her so solidly that she can feel blood rushing to her head. 

It's not the most comfortable of positions but Lily doesn’t give a damn, not when her face is buried against Narcissa’s hair, breathing in as much of her as she can manage. 

When Narcissa draws back, pulling Lily’s bottom lip down with her thumb, the tempo of Lily’s pulse is almost audible. She lifts her fingers, pressing them over the three upper rib bones that line the middle of Narcissa’s chest. Her eyes burn. They are like the gates of a fortress, shielding the most sacred of hearts. She dips, leaving a kiss there as well. 

Narcissa scoots closer, practically vibrating against Lily’s touch. Her hands delve into Lily’s curls, working at the knots. Lily watches the light that settles over the ridges of Narcissa’s face, the translucent skin under her eyes, the tiny mole on the left side of her jaw. The usual tension that she carries seems to have vanished.

“You’re fidgety in the morning,” Lily laughs, catching pale fingers and bringing them up to her lips, “I like it.”

Narcissa’s eyebrow arches into a high peak. “If you like your tongue, Miss Evans, I suggest that you refrain from such inflammatory comments.”

Lily intends to snort but it sounds a bit too much like an enamoured purr for her liking. _Great._

“Well, well, well, is that a threat, your majesty?” She winces as Narcissa’s knee, _hopefully by accident,_ collides with the centre of her stomach as she straddles Lily's pelvis.

“I’m thrilled that you managed to puzzle that one out,” Narcissa states sweetly, sarcasm adhering to every word, “I was worried that it might be beyond your genius.”

Lily snorts again, with more success this time. “Sexy as your villainous little wiles may be, you don’t scare me for a minute.” Lily heaves herself up onto her elbows, moving them both back to rest against the headboard. “I happen to know how much you like my tongue. You’re far too smart to poison your own fruit.”

The laugh that leaves Narcissa’s mouth is borderline pornographic. Every sentient being within a twelve-mile radius must be blushing profusely. Lily’s throat is so dry that it feels like the two sides are stuck together. 

“I never said what I was going to do with it, did I?” Narcissa husks, licking over Lily’s jawbone. “Perhaps I’ll just keep it busy on a permanent basis.” 

_Holy fuck._

A bomb may well have gone off inside of Lily’s chest and she’s moderately confident that she can taste shrapnel between her teeth. Either that or she’s somehow bitten out her own voice box. She gapes at Narcissa, her mind struggling beneath a cloud of thick smoke. 

She expects Narcissa’s expression to be deadly, but it’s strangely fond. It unreels something in Lily’s abdomen, something that courses through her atoms like gold dust and honey. 

“Close your eyes,” she instructs, placing her hands along the slopes of Narcissa’s hips, “I want a redo.”

Narcissa looks at her curiously, scanning her face. “What?”

“Go on, close your eyes,” Lily urges, pinching her own together as if in demonstration.

The crinkle between Narcissa's brows is back with a vengeance. “Why?” 

“Must you _always_ be so bloody…” Lily doesn't finish, which is probably for the best. Instead, she shakes her head, sticking out her tongue. For now, at least, it has escaped Narcissa’s wrath.

Narcissa blinks markedly slowly, teasing compliance, and then her gaze meets Lily’s again, wider than ever. _That little sneak._

“I really don’t see why I—”

“For the _love_ of god, Narcissa,” Lily snaps crossly, though her tone is underpinned by affection. _Stupid_ affection, that grows and grows as Narcissa’s lips slide into a satisfied grin that is _way_ too fucking lovely. Lily should be annoyed but, for some damn _inconvenient_ reason, she wants to cry again.

 _“Fine,”_ Narcissa murmurs, her silky voice gliding up the length of Lily’s spine. The word somehow reverberates with more beleaguered exasperation and amused adoration than one syllable should allow. _Real magic._ She strokes Lily’s cheek with a soft, lazy smile before pressing her eyelids shut.

_Finally. How hard was that?_

Within a fraction of a second, one of Lily’s hands moulds against the nape of Narcissa’s neck and the other darts to the slant of her jaw, pulling her forwards. She kisses Narcissa like she’s reviving her with sunlight. She kisses her like she’s coaxing a phoenix from the ashes. She kisses her like she’s sowing seeds of hope against her mouth, planting fields of lilium and narcissus that will watercolour the horizon.

Lily can feel Narcissa grinning, can feel her body going slack and the press of cool skin against her own, and it sets off a chain reaction through her nervous system, zinging and zapping sparks around like a pinball machine. Narcissa tastes warm and sleepy, not dissimilar to earl grey tea. 

Afterwards, Narcissa touches her fingertips to her lips with a small, shy smile. _Damn her_ and that bloody smile. Lily’s brain is so fuzzy that she barely even realises that she’s returning it until the sides of her mouth start to protest.

“That’s how I’m going to wake you up every morning from now on,” she promises dreamily, playing with the strap of Narcissa’s nightgown. 

Narcissa regards her without saying anything for what feels like eons. A dull weight begins to bear down on the back of Lily’s tongue as the seconds tick by uninterrupted. 

When Narcissa’s reply eventually manifests, Lily remembers how to inhale normally again. Remembers, but fails to do so.

“Every morning?” Narcissa asks tentatively, in a hushed tone that seems to skate from her mouth like stones skipping over a lake. 

Lily’s beam could outshine a lighthouse. “Yep. Every morning for the rest of eternity.” 

“Oh,” Narcissa whispers with a shaky breath, staring at her fingers against Lily’s chest and twisting them together nervously, “that’s a very long time.”

“It is,” Lily agrees, her eyes glimmering with tenderness. 

_It is._

The smile on Narcissa’s lips as she gazes down at her is so _ludicrously_ beautiful that it makes Lily lightheaded. She feels like she’s climbed inside of it, cocooned it around her body, emerging as something new and dazzling and complete. 

Once again, she is struck dumb by the light that cascades over Narcissa’s face. She skims her fingers over Narcissa’s back, half checking, in a _disgustingly sentimental_ way, for signs of wings.

_Godric, take the wheel._

Lily stares at Narcissa’s long, graceful neck, at the lines that sit like parentheses beside her mouth, at the dark patterns that swirl in her eyes. She very nearly lets out a sob. 

It is difficult to stomach that the feeling that swells inside of Lily’s chest, that explodes her existence like a solar flare, is one that she once fought against with all her might. There’s no glossing over the moronic pantomime that she’d starred in upon initially discovering her plight. 

She's ashamed to admit that when she’d been ambushed by the realisation that she was in love with Narcissa, inescapably and irredeemably, she hadn’t exactly taken the news well. _Understatement of the century._ Her immediate concern had been that she'd accidentally imbibed Amortentia, either that or become _delusional_ , which arguably remains up for debate.

The first coherent thought that had crossed her mind was _'no'._ The second was _'fuck_ no'.

To begin with, Lily had laughed at the preposterous idea, toying with it like a wisecrack. She'd turned it over and over in her brain, driving herself almost mad, until she didn’t find the joke as funny. In fact, after it repeatedly tracked her down like a missile to the forehead, she was met with a rising panic that it wasn’t a joke at all. More like a colossal _mindfuck_ that sideswiped her off her feet and proceeded to trample her under hefty boots.

She remembers the distinct sound of pottery smashing after she'd hurled a mug against the wall during a full-throttle tantrum. Tea, again. _Figures._ This was closely followed by a spate of benders that give her a headache to think about to this day. After one particular meltdown, she hadn’t been able to look Alice in the eye for a week.

Still, there had been a certain voyeuristic thrill that came from watching her life crumbling in front of her. Things that had always seemed so firm and stable, so easily divided into right and wrong, disintegrated like a sand sculpture, until her world was made up of nothing anywhere and yet everything everywhere, transmuted and ruined and revitalised all at once.

Now, Lily concludes that she must be the biggest chump in the annals of chumps for trying to deny this love for even a moment. She vows to never take it for granted again.

Somewhere in the distance, church bells ring. Lily hears twelve distinct strikes, though she’s surprised that she’s _compos mentis_ enough to count.

“Shit, it’s noon already,” she groans, smoothing down her hair with her palms.

Narcissa’s tongue darts out, flicking across her top lip. “So?”

 _Batten down the hatches,_ Lily’s good sense has left the building. She sniggers, poking Narcissa in the chest.

“So?” Lily mimics, tickling over Narcissa’s ribs. She’s heading in the direction of a broken mandible but she’ll take her chances. _“So?”_ She rolls Narcissa onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head. “Who are you and what have you done with Narcissa?”

 _“Lily—”_ Narcissa begins to protest with a shriek, writhing aimlessly, but that quickly proves futile.

Lily releases Narcissa’s arms, tugging up the bottom of her slip and peering underneath it. “Where’s my girl? Have you seen her?”

Narcissa is almost breathless from laughing, trying desperately to grab onto Lily’s hands as they wander over her torso. Lily marvels at the way that the corners of her nose turn up, just slightly, when she laughs, opening up the whole landscape of her face. Whatever being created the universe, Narcissa is their _magnum opus_ , of that Lily is certain. 

“Lily, _really,_ you are—”

“—looking for a drop-dead gorgeous _bombshell_ with a killer smile and curves for days. She’s a bit like you, actually, but she’s grumpier than a boggart in a dank wardrobe.” She scatters a path of kisses over the edge of Narcissa’s waist, nipping at her flesh. It leaves behind a trail of little red marks that look like fairy footprints ascending her body.

Narcissa tuts, narrowing her eyes. She grabs a handful of Lily’s curls, dragging her back up. “You are a _clown,_ Miss Evans, and a complete liability.” 

“Ah, _there_ she is,” Lily teases, giggling against Narcissa’s mouth. They trade kisses between warm puffs of breath and laughter.

“If you’d be so kind,” Narcissa says saucily, hoisting herself upright, “ _‘your girl’_ would like her coffee now.” She tries to use air quotes but fails miserably. It’s the cherry on top, and it’s also too damn cute for Lily to bear.

“That is not how you…” She gives up on her sentence, choosing instead to press her lips against the inside of Narcissa's elbow. 

“Shut up,” Narcissa huffs. “I want my coffee before I make up my mind to set you on fire.” She glowers at Lily with a sulky pout, peeking out through her lashes. 

“Fuck, I _love_ you,” Lily laughs, cupping Narcissa’s cheeks and kissing her between her eyes. “I love you _so_ much.”

Narcissa’s mask of annoyance is betrayed by a sweet, persistent smile that flickers around the corners of her mouth before taking over completely. She narrows her eyes but it’s the furthest thing from convincing. With a heavy sigh, she retrieves her wand. Two mugs of piping hot coffee appear on the nightstand, along with two slices of toast and a pot of jam.

“Well I never,” Lily grins, twisting her frame and slumping back against the headboard. She helps Narcissa up, tucking her against her side. “Waited on by a monarch. Am I hallucinating?”

Narcissa’s droll retort is muffled by Lily’s shoulder. _“Probably.”_

“No wonder the covers look like they’re mutating.” In truth, the squares of the gingham are so close together that they do give Lily double vision if she keeps her eyes on one spot for too long. The unholy shade of mauve that Andromeda’s chosen does not help matters.

“I think that is just because this quilt is diabolically ugly. Not to mention offensively twee,” Narcissa complains, scrunching her nose. She pinches a centimetre of fabric between her fingertips and then abandons it with a grimace. 

_She is far too fucking adorable._

Lily chuckles, stroking Narcissa’s wrist. Her heart skips when she feels the pulse throbbing beneath her thumb. The words are out before Lily even realises their implications. “Alright, grouchy, you can stop shattering the duvet's self-esteem. We’ll head home later and then you won’t have to see it anymore.”

Narcissa inhales sharply. The edges of her mouth twitch upwards and her eyes glitter with amazement. Still, old habits die hard. She wets her lips, placing a hand over Lily’s knee. “Your bedding is even worse, Lily.”

_Come again? What the fuck is wrong with maroon?_

“Huh,” Lily states, frowning dramatically, “you don’t like the Gryffindor vibe? That sucks. I was thinking I might zhuzh it up with some sequinned lions to really bring it together.”

Narcissa observes her with a blank expression, ignoring her nonsense. _Shame._ “I don’t like the crumbs between the sheets, that's for sure.”

“I am _wounded,_ ” Lily guffaws, pulling Narcissa tighter against her side and tickling her beneath the chin. “I am not _that_ bad.”

“Yes, you are,” Narcissa contests, fiddling with Lily’s fingers where they rest against her hip, “but I—I would love to come home with you.” Her lips twitch further, until they almost meet the requirements for a smile. 

Lily swallows hard. So hard, in fact, that she nearly chokes. Her eyes sting. The thought that they are no longer living on borrowed time, no longer need to hide in the shadows, hits Lily so intensely that her whole face is streaked with tears in a matter of seconds. It feels like someone has levelled a stunning spell straight at her chest.

She slides her palm up to turn Narcissa’s cheek, bringing her forwards for a slow kiss. She grazes her fingertips over the top of her spine, kneading the small column of bones above her nightgown. 

“It’s your home now, too,” Lily promises, pressing her lips against Narcissa’s forehead. Her ribs feel like they are going to crack through her skin. The weight of what she’s saying rumbles through her like shifting tectonic plates. Her mouth opens awkwardly, forming an array of changing shapes that can’t seem to decide on a constant position. “If—I mean—if that’s something that you’d—”

“I would,” Narcissa interrupts, her watery eyes locking with Lily’s. Her smile is so radiant that Lily’s own makes her face ache. _“Thank you.”_ She leans further into Lily’s shoulder, kissing the join between her neck and collarbone. She gestures for Lily to pass her coffee to her, which she does.

Upon picking up her own mug, Lily’s grin somehow splits even wider. “Oh my god, you even made it frothy, with chocolate sprinkles on top.” Her head feels as if it’s filled with packing peanuts and tinsel. She swipes at her cheeks, staring at her cup like it’s something sacred.

Narcissa rolls her eyes, but she’s blushing. “Just drink it before it goes cold.”

Lily takes a long swig, deliberately getting as much foam as possible around her lips, before tugging Narcissa towards her. She kisses her thoroughly, smudging the gunky mess all over Narcissa’s mouth and chin. 

It’s so unnecessarily juvenile but Lily feels as if her heart is doing jumping jacks. A delicious, giddy sensation spirals up through her abdomen like a bolt.

Narcissa shoves her sternum, issuing a litany of curse words. “You are the _worst_ person I’ve ever met,” Narcissa hisses, wiping her lips. The look that she throws in Lily’s direction is so piercing that it could cut through metal.

Nevertheless, she curls against Lily’s side, taking a much more dignified sip from her own drink. Soft, glacial fingers twine through Lily’s, clutching her hand as if they can’t remember how to let go.

“Too much sugar for you?” Lily mocks, grinning like a simpleton.

“You’re an incurable imbecile and I _loathe_ you,” Narcissa answers snippily, running her nail around the rim of her mug. _That’s probably a fair assessment._ At some point, she’s fixed her polish, and noticing that tiny detail unspools a nebulous flood of love straight into Lily’s veins. 

Unfortunately, Lily is not lucid enough to recognise the potential hazard that she’s creating. “Nah, baby, you just can’t spell.” 

It’s the nail in her coffin.

“What kind of idiotic sense does that even— _you know what?_ Never mind,” Narcissa grumbles. She snorts, depositing her cup onto the nightstand beside her. The smile on her face is a very dangerous smile.

_Uh oh._

Nudging Lily aside with a bony elbow, Narcissa stretches over her to retrieve the plate from the table. Her expression is anything but innocent. “Would you like some breakfast, my darling?” The sultry, drawling tone that oozes from her mouth like treacle sounds like she’s chain smoked an entire pack of menthols.

She undoes the lid of the jar with a precise flick of her wrist. Lily is about to crack a joke about her technique when Narcissa dips her fingers into the pot, hastily shooting them out to smear a tacky streak of jam down the length of Lily’s cheek.

Lily scowls at her but she only grins more wickedly, entirely too fucking smug.

“There we are. A little rouge does wonders for your complexion.”

_That’s it. Drastic times call for drastic measures._

“Right, I’ve had quite enough of your insolence. You’ve had it,” Lily roars, giggling, lunging forwards and trying in vain to seal the edge of her face against Narcissa’s. Thankfully, Narcissa has the presence of mind to move the plate to safety as Lily pins her against the mattress. 

She screeches as Lily tackles her, laughing against Lily’s lips. She winds her thighs around Lily’s waist, keeping her in place despite the fact that she’s at her mercy beneath her. Lily lets go of one of her hands, pulling her sticky fingers towards her and sucking them into her mouth. 

“You make me so…” Narcissa snares her top lip between her teeth, shaking her head. Her eyes are full of sunshine.

“What?” Lily queries, licking the traces of sweetness that she managed to transfer onto Narcissa’s cheek. “Irritated? Rattled? Belligerent?”

Narcissa smiles softly, sweeping a strand of red hair behind Lily’s ear. 

_“Happy.”_


	7. such hints of gladness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why is this still not finished when I said in the last instalment that there was one chapter left, you ask? Because, like Lily, I'm an idiot who apparently doesn't know when to shut up. :')
> 
> Truthfully, this chapter and the next chapter were all supposed to be posted as one but being as this is already over 5k I decided to just split them in half for my own sanity. Sirius and the gang will appear in the next chapter, as promised.
> 
> Needs editing, but posting for now. I hope you enjoy it, let me know if you do. :)

Once breakfast is actually consumed and Lily’s glazed brain kicks back into gear, they somehow manage to keep their hands to themselves long enough to get dressed and prepare to leave. Even with the use of their wands, transferring the numerous boxes and other personal effects to Lily’s is no walk in the park. Lily is nearly drained when they are eventually ready to apparate, so much so that she briefly contemplates taking a nap before they set off. 

Rocking up last night without much forethought is something that she wouldn’t change, but the next time that there’s an emergency she needs to at least pay some bloody mind to transport. Neither of them has a car at their disposal, not that Lily will be getting into the passenger seat of Narcissa’s deathtrap any time soon, so magic is their only option. Between them, they cobble together enough strength to make it to Lily’s in one piece. 

The cottage definitely doesn’t boast as much room as the Manor, but it’s light and airy. After a bit of assistance, namely Lily smashing her boot against the boiler repeatedly, the heaters whir into action at full pelt and the space quickly becomes toasty and snug. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s home. Lily hopes that Narcissa feels that way, too. She wants, desperately, for her to feel like it's somewhere that she can just _be_. Somewhere that she can let her walls down. 

Andromeda, _her fairy fucking godmother,_ apparently had the wherewithal to break in like a corrupt Cinderella and clean the kitchen. She’s even, to Lily’s great relief, stocked the fridge. Thank shit that Sirius can’t keep his gob shut for more than five seconds at a time. They are both getting a pie, charred crusts be damned.

They spend the next few hours unpacking. Narcissa insists upon changing into cleaning clothes, which seems like a relatively innocent idea, and then promptly begins digging around in Lily’s drawers for something suitable, which seems less so. Lily is reasonably sure that she should be offended. 

Nevertheless, there is no way that she can bring herself to be pissed off. Not when Narcissa elects to wear a baggy t-shirt and a pair of Lily’s pyjama shorts. Not when she ties her hair up into a loose ponytail and she just looks so… _soft,_ parading around barefoot like Lily is supposed to find this whole ensemble the most _routine_ thing in the world and not something that makes her heart do a fucking gymnastics set in her chest. It is freaking _impossible_ for Lily to do anything other than swoon like a muppet.

Once Lily mops up her jaw from the floor, she waters the few plants that have clung to existence. They’re fairly likely to kick the bucket anyway because Lily divvies out enough water to drown a forest, but her attention span is on the fritz. 

Narcissa waltzes between various rooms, the contours of her face sharp with concentration, and the view is heartwarming and orgasm-inducing simultaneously. The image of her legs in those fucking shorts is going to be permanently seared into Lily’s eyeballs until the end of infinity. Not that she’s complaining.

The house is filled with so much swearing that it sounds like last call at The Hog’s Head. Lily has already stubbed her toe twice lugging items from place to place, and her spider senses tell her that the third time that Narcissa clobbered her with a revoltingly posh coat hanger was on purpose. There is no conceivable reason that one person needs so many bloody cloaks, so _excuse Lily_ for being foolhardy enough to point that out. 

Regardless, it is hopeless to try to smother the fact that Lily is absolutely fucking ecstatic. Seeing their possessions blending together - bottles of perfume and face cream and several tubes of lipstick intermingled with Lily's cosmetics on her vanity, Narcissa’s glasses and books on the table next to _her_ side of the bed - makes Lily almost woozy. 

More than once, she delays proceedings by slipping her arms around Narcissa from behind, dotting kisses over her ear, her neck, any patch of skin within reach. Narcissa really does have the nicest ears, Lily muses, and she’s obsessed with them. Near the top, the helixes flatten at the edges, bending around the second layers of cartilage like they are hugging them. It’s not the most normal of things to notice, but Lily is perfectly aware that she’s gone off the deep end.

“You can move around anything you want,” Lily offers, pressing another kiss to the base of Narcissa’s neck, “as long as you don’t chuck away everything I own.”

She anticipates some kind of blowback, maybe a sarcastic comment or two about Lily’s eclectic choice of decor, but Narcissa just bites her lip, skimming her fingertips along Lily’s forearms. Lily’s heart beats frantically and she’s fairly confident that Narcissa must be able to feel it against her spine.

“I know that it’s not as fancy as…what you’re used to,” Lily blurts out, nerves ramping up of their own accord, “but I want you to feel at home.” She pauses, her tongue fusing to the roof of her mouth. Her breath comes out choppily, hot and fast. “Maybe next weekend we can pick out some new curtains and bits and pieces together that are more… _Narcissa-y.”_

Why does she suddenly feel as if she’s standing on the deck of a pirate ship? Her stomach turns like a spinning helm, crewed only by some kind of nefarious apparition. _Fucking ideal._

Narcissa makes a sweet, humming noise that shimmers through the air like pixie dust. Lily doesn’t have to see her face to tell that she is smiling. “That would be nice. You definitely need some new kitchen utensils. And we should probably replace the table.” She turns in Lily’s arms, regarding her with a small, soft expression. “But I like how _Lily-ish_ everything is.”

Lily grins, locking her fingers together against the dip of Narcissa’s waist. “ _Lily-ish?_ Isn’t inventing words a bit beneath your vocabulary?”

“I try to bear my audience in mind,” Narcissa scoffs, fiddling with one of Lily’s curls. She drops her gaze, moistening her lips and rolling the bottom one between her teeth. In a low, faraway voice that sneaks behind Lily’s ribs, she adds a tentative admission. “It makes me feel safe.”

The blood in Lily’s body apparently has zero regard for the dimensions of her veins. Her skin feels like it is about to break open. She guides Narcissa closer, burying her nose against her hair and moving her arms up to engulf narrow shoulders.

“You’re _always_ going to be safe with me,” Lily whispers, even though her throat seems to be constricting. Her eyes sting with tears. “I will do anything to protect you. Anything.” She means it with everything that she is. If it comes down to it, Lily is fully prepared to fight for Narcissa to the death, even if she does drive her crazier than a grindylow on acid.

“I know,” Narcissa murmurs, and those two little words somehow winch apart Lily’s bones and climb inside her chest. They are so earnest, so resolute, that Lily is crying before she even realises. She kisses Narcissa’s chin, her eyebrow, the freckle beside her left ear, and sends a quick word of thanks out to the universe.

She steals one last chaste kiss from Narcissa’s smiling lips before stepping back, smoothing her fingers underneath her eyelashes. Given the head rush of events that the last forty-eight hours have entailed, Lily decides to give Narcissa some space and time to herself. The last thing that she wants to do is overwhelm her.

“I’m going to shuffle some things around in the lounge. May I interest you in some cocoa?” 

Narcissa eyes flicker with gratitude. She stretches up on her toes to press a kiss against Lily’s forehead. “You may. Thank you.”

The radio has precious little to offer when Lily switches it on. There’s some cockamamie seer with worse interpersonal skills than Sybill spewing some utter codswallop about the next quidditch champion, and a slew of rhythmically questionable pop bands whining through autotune. 

In the end, she settles on a classic from The Hobgoblins. She snorts, remembering the bullshit twaddle churned out in The Quibbler. If Sirius were actually Stubby Boardman, the entire wizarding community would have perforated eardrums. Jot _that_ down.

Whilst she waits for the milk to boil, Lily sets about clearing the top section of the bookshelf in the living room. It’s relatively modest, standing at shoulder height, but it’s still somehow accumulated more junk than the Room of Requirement. 

With a deep sigh, she moves a few books to the lower recesses. She concludes that the eyesore of a plate given to her by Petunia can sail its way to charity, or a compactor, once and for all. Who, in this day and age - or also at any point ever - needs decorative chinaware? _That’s right,_ absolutely fucking no one. _Good riddance._

She’s making some headway, at least. Her mind vaguely notes a strange, spitting sound coming from somewhere, but she’s too caught up in the task at hand to give it any serious thought. From the depths of a drawer, she weeds out some fairy lights that she never quite got round to putting up. They will do nicely.

It takes some doing, but she eventually succeeds at pinning them around the inner seam of the shelf, creating a glowing backdrop. She spends far too long making sure that the new wave of items are evenly spaced out and accented prominently. Granted, some of the bulbs hang at off angles and her crack at a red carpet made out of wrapping paper leaves a lot to be desired, but it’s not too shabby, all things considered.

Excessive: _check._ Garish: _double check_. Lily mentally claps her hands together, delighted. Hopefully it’s just the kind of wonderful mess that Narcissa will outwardly despise and secretly love.

She jolts, almost thwacking her head against the bookshelf, when she hears footsteps behind her. Using her body to block most of her little project, Lily spins around to face Narcissa. Her lithe form leans against the bedroom doorframe with folded arms. 

An amused smirk plays across those sinful lips and for a moment Lily thinks that she’s been caught redhanded. She watches as Narcissa lifts her wand, flicking it in the direction of the kitchen with that same wry smile. The weird hissing noise stops. 

_Huh._

“Darling, I assume, from the noxious scent of burnt milk wafting throughout the premises, that _I_ will be the one making the cocoa?”

 _“Shit!”_ Lily barks, her cheeks reddening. This is _not_ how she envisioned welcoming Narcissa to her new home.

Lily learns two things abruptly. _Lesson number one:_ never leave things on the stove unattended. _Lesson number two:_ when Narcissa looks so bloody enticing in front of her, there’s no use even attempting to fake a scowl.

She spares Narcissa a guilty grin that mostly consists of gritted teeth. “I’m sorry, I meant to go back and check on it but…” Her words float away as she huffs, tugging at her hair in frustration. 

Narcissa chuckles, shaking her head fondly. “No matter. At least now I won’t be forced to endure absurd amounts of honey.”

“Give me _some_ credit,” Lily gripes, poking out her chin indignantly. “I’d rather not be sleeping on the sofa tonight, thanks.”

“Where else are you going to sleep, dear? There’s only one bed.” Narcissa’s nostrils flare in amusement. She slides her tongue across her lips, which definitely has to be classed as some kind of penalty-worthy move. _Fuck._

Still, if the ref isn’t going to call it, Lily will gladly do a bit of dodgy tackling herself. She’s not above some light misconduct. She pinches her eyes, puffing out her chest. “You're going to regret that comment later, your ladyship. Don’t even bother trying to warm up your toes against my shins because they are retiring from duty.”

Narcissa tips her head back, laughing. She clasps a hand over her chest, opening her fingers against her - _Lily’s_ \- shirt. When she finally simmers down, her face is flushed and the pink hue brightens her cheeks. 

_Are the gods bloody serious?_ Lily is a stone’s throw away from requiring sedation.

Remembering her original undertaking, Lily begins to feel skittish. She chews at the inside of her mouth, tasting something coppery. At least the blood means that her heart is still pumping. That may not be the case for long.

Narcissa frowns, narrowing her eyes. She takes a tentative step forwards, but pauses when she sees Lily’s hands. They are suspended at her sides, balled into loose fists. “Why are you acting so… _oddly?_ ”

_Rumbled._

The voice that tumbles from Lily’s mouth sounds sketchy at best. “What do you mean?”

Narcissa arches an eyebrow, taking another step. “Well, for a start you’re standing like a starfish, which, whilst not entirely beyond the scope of your usual bizarre behaviour, does strike me as somewhat peculiar.”

Okay, so she’s not going to be recruited for an undercover operation anytime soon. _Might as well face the music._

Lily permits a small laugh to creak out, shifting her body to the side. She makes a ‘ta-da’ gesture with her hands, snagging her lip between her teeth. Her knees do some unidentifiable bendy motion of their own volition that has to look insane.

Every noise in the house seems to fade as Narcissa freezes in place, her mouth pursed as if she were about to speak and instead found herself face to face with a Gorgon. The rosiness departs from her cheeks like an ebbing wave, leaving each centimetre of her skin barren of colour.

Lily feels like she’s stumbled into quicksand. Her heartbeat accelerates at breakneck speed, strumming so fiercely at her throat that she wonders if it might snap her tendons. She flounders, trying to stitch an explanation out of the landslide of words reverberating through her skull. 

“I thought it might be nice for your ornaments to have a proper display,” Lily offers bashfully, her features rapidly turning crimson. Narcissa just stares at her silently, her temple resting against the door jamb. One of her hands is splayed over her heart, and she peeks up through her lashes with the shiniest eyes that Lily has seen to date.

Still, she doesn’t say anything, and anxiety expands at the back of Lily’s sternum. _Maybe this wasn’t such a great plan._ After all, Narcissa deliberately kept them concealed from view, what the _fuck_ was Lily thinking deciding otherwise? _Christ._

Her forehead feels sticky. “Unless—” A clumsy panic ricochets up Lily’s spine, batting her vertebrae around like a game of whack-a-mandrake. “It was just an idea, if you’d rather put them—” 

Narcissa stalks forwards, her lips blazing over Lily’s so quickly that the words are still falling out of her mouth as she melts into the kiss. Remarkably soft palms drift up to Lily’s shoulders, underneath the fabric of her blouse, settling like pure spring dew. Cold as ice. Her skin tingles. Lily might be in need of some Skele-Gro, because it feels as if her bones have snuck out of the window without leaving behind so much as a note.

With a contented purr, Narcissa pulls away, gliding her fingers over Lily’s breastbone and tucking her head beneath her chin. She tilts her face to the side, observing Lily’s handiwork. “It’s beautiful,” Narcissa states reverently, her warm breath spilling over the hollow of Lily’s throat. Her tone sounds notably shuddery. She peers up at Lily, her eyelashes beaded with tears. “You are beautiful.”

“That’s awfully mushy of you, Miss Black,” Lily giggles, and somehow, even though her voice is thick and wet, even though the name isn’t quite accurate, even though it’s undeniably loaded and sends the equivalent of an earthquake barrelling through Lily’s organs, the seismic pressure changes the atmosphere like clouds clearing in the sky. It is liberating, and saturated with hope.

Narcissa closes her teeth around Lily’s earlobe. “Don’t blame me. I think prolonged exposure to your antics may have indelibly damaged my reputation.” 

“You’re welcome,” Lily sings, scraping her nails down the back of Narcissa’s neck. At the responding glower, Lily chuckles. “Sue me for being a romantic.”

Narcissa nips at her flesh, and Lily can feel her smirking against her skin. “Careful, darling, I don’t think you’ll find any counsel willing to take on such an unwinnable case.”

“You are such a brat,” Lily laughs, kissing the base of Narcissa’s throat. She moves her hands to the backs of Narcissa’s thighs and lifts her, until _the pins of fucking Aphrodite_ are wrapped around her waist. She praises the goddesses for them, and for the fact that the one thing in her life that she rarely flakes out of is arm day at the gym. 

Roving fingers wind through Lily’s hair and she manages, with a few minor trips along the way, to manoeuvre them over to the sofa. They are running quite considerably behind Narcissa’s designated schedule, but who’s really counting? 

They have all the time in the world.

* * *

Diagon Alley always lifts Lily’s spirits, but it has never looked as enchanting as it does the following day, covered in a fresh layer of glistering snow. Every shop window is decked out with twinkling lights and Christmas trimmings, and the crowded street is abuzz with excitement and preparations. Even Garrick seems to have embraced festivities, draping his lanterns with holly leaves and pine cones. 

Candles burn in nearly all of the storefronts, excluding Madam Malkin’s, presumably due to her fear that moths will flock in their hundreds. From the outside, however, it does appear that she’s strung so much mistletoe up from the rafters that any poor customers blindly entering are likely to meet a very unfortunate fate.

It is easy to get swept up in the cheerful glamour of it all, the sea of starry-eyed, beaming faces and flashing bulbs and carols that are primarily out of tune. The glee is infectious. Strolling along with Narcissa’s arm hooked through hers, their gloved fingers twined together, envelops Lily with so much delight that she feels like she’s swallowed helium. It’s exhilarating. _Right._

People can stare all they want, though they don’t. Most of the throng barely bat an eye. A few of the more jubilant individuals warble seasonal greetings at the pair, somewhat furtively, as if they might soon be on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing from Narcissa. Lily can’t help but grin at that. Narcissa’s lashing tongue, _praise the skies,_ is already reserved, _thanks very much._

Lily is blissed-out to the max, and if every now and again she has to stop walking to give Narcissa a slightly-too-long-to-be-chaste kiss? That’s just the most sensible thing to do. She wasn’t top of her class for nothing. 

They amble along, soaking up the tranquil atmosphere and commenting on the decorations of each bazaar that they pass. Narcissa, of course, claims to detest the vast majority of the displays, though Lily catches her watching an ensemble of pirouetting sugar plum fairies with glittering eyes. They exchange soft touches and secret smiles and bicker like complete walnuts. Even Lily cringes at some of her own lousy jokes, but it’s worth it to hear Narcissa’s laughter and her laughter and _her laughter_ , tinkling like sleigh bells. 

The wind feels like needles as they wander across the twisting cobbles, whipping at their cheeks and pulling at their hair. It has borrowed the crisp, sharp talons left behind by the storm and seems intent on grabbing everything within its reach. 

All hell breaks loose when Lily, ever the stickler for getting yelled at, attempts to wrestle Narcissa into a beanie hat. It’s forest green, with a silver serpent in the centre, coiled into a figure eight. _Totally appropriate,_ and guaranteed to look adorable. As might be anticipated, Narcissa point blank refuses to wear it, which does throw a spanner in the works. _Never mind, can’t blame a girl for trying._

Midway through their little debate, Lily squeezes Narcissa’s hand. “So, what you’re saying is that you think I’m sweet,” she grins. Her expression is intentionally smarmy because she just _knows_ that this tangent will infuriate Narcissa to no end. 

Narcissa’s lips press into a horizontal gash. She glares at Lily, her irises as black as coal. “ _No,_ that is _not_ what I’m saying.”

Lily chuckles, begrudgingly shoving the hat back into her pocket. “That’s what _I_ heard.” 

“Then you need to get your ears checked immediately.” The sound of Narcissa’s footsteps hitting the ground increases in volume, and affection pools in Lily’s chest. She can tell from the very unsubtle stomping that Narcissa is well aware that she’s overplayed her hand.

Dumb as ever, Lily is like a dog with a bone. “You said, and I quote, _'I don’t care how sweet you are, I am not wearing that hat in public'_.”

Narcissa snatches her fingers out of Lily’s grasp, crossing her arms over her chest. Someone better get some Mandrake Restorative Draught, _stat,_ because the look that she tosses in Lily’s direction is enough to petrify any victim. 

“Why are you like this?”

Lily tries valiantly to stifle a snort with her glove. She sticks out her chin innocently, fluttering her eyelashes. Her response is a no brainer. _Quite literally._ Clearly she’s a glutton for punishment. “Like what?”

Narcissa scoffs, shaking her head. _That bloody tongue_ is out again, poking at the seam of ruby red lips. “Only an obtuse dolt would glean something so gratuitous and egotistical from that statement.” 

_Excellent._ When Narcissa starts spouting like a thesaurus, it’s time to send out invites for the victory party.

“Well,” Lily hums, wriggling her fingers over Narcissa’s and weaving them back together, “this obtuse dolt is choosing to accept the compliment.”

“You’re an idiot,” Narcissa snaps despairingly, though she tightens her hold on Lily’s hand.

“Mhmm,” Lily mocks, dragging out the consonants for as long as humanly possible, “and just whose idiot am I, pray tell?”

Narcissa’s snarky reply is as irritating as it is bloody predictable. “I haven’t a clue.” Truth be told, her velvety voice charms Lily’s knees to jelly.

Still, she can’t turn down the opportunity to poke the basilisk. Maybe she _is_ an obtuse dolt after all, but she’s accepted her lot. She goes for the jugular. “Is that right? In that case, perhaps I shall find someone else to—”

“Don’t you _dare,_ Miss Evans.” The edge to Narcissa’s tone is poisonous and brittle. It’s really unacceptable that Lily finds it so freaking tempting.

It is almost painful not to smirk, but Lily somehow manages to bite one back. Mostly through sheer stubbornness. “Why? What are you going to do about it? If you don’t care then—”

 _“Mine,”_ Narcissa snarls, dropping Lily’s hand along with all pretences, darting her fingers up between them and curling them around Lily’s collar. She yanks it, bringing Lily’s face forwards until they are toe to toe and nose to nose. Her pupils are blown. Lily’s ploy might have worked a bit too well because Narcissa appears poised to annihilate any other would-be suitors should they so much glimpse at Lily in the wrong way. Or in any way at all. “ _My_ idiot.”

It sends every neuron in Lily’s poor bumbling mind absolutely _buck fucking wild_. 

Lily laughs, abandoning the charade. She strokes Narcissa’s tense jaw and then skirts her fingertips over her cold cheekbones. _“Obviously,”_ Lily murmurs, tucking Narcissa’s scarf into her coat and freeing a few wisps of blonde hair from the fabric. She grins at her, entranced by the way that the lights from the surrounding storefronts play in Narcissa’s eyes. Lily’s features soften, and she adds gently, “I only want to be yours.”

Narcissa nods, once, and with it comes a spiral of white smog, as if in lieu of a fleshly entity she’s been keeping a breath captive. She treads closer, even though there is little space between them, and loops her arms around Lily’s middle. Her head finds the dip of Lily’s clavicle and her fists close around the material of Lily's jacket.

 _Holy smokes,_ there’s that little bloody smile, stretching the lines around Narcissa’s mouth and stretching Lily’s heart even more. 

“But,” Lily just about plucks out, peering at her seriously, “you do think that I’m sweet, don’t you?”

Narcissa rolls her eyes, but there's a fondness in them that glues every crack in Lily’s world together. “ _Yes,_ I think that you are sweet. Satisfied?” She tilts her face upwards, kissing the side of Lily’s nose. “Now please stop wittering on like a grasshopper. I’m freezing.”

“Oh, I am _very_ satisfied,” Lily confirms smugly, dusting her lips over Narcissa’s pink cheeks. With one last peck, she takes Narcissa’s hand, tugging her forwards. “Come on, cranky, let’s get you inside.”

* * *

As they near The Leaky Cauldron, doubling back on themselves, Narcissa hesitates. The sign for the pub swings noisily from a couple of buildings away, as if it might break loose from its hinges. Her pace falters until she ceases moving altogether, casting a glance behind her and flitting her eyes between the passersby. The post of her spine is visibly stiff and the muscles in her neck are dangerously close to the surface.

Lily’s pulse begins to pick up speed. She steps in front of Narcissa, circling a protective arm around her shoulders and lifting her chin with the crescent of her finger. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

A stillness weighs heavily between them, as if Narcissa is conflicted about admitting whatever is troubling her out loud. It lasts about the same amount of time that it usually takes for Lily’s lips to travel the length of Narcissa’s forearm, fourteen slow seconds passing like fourteen gentle kisses. Her features crumple, becoming slaty.

“Does it concern you that people may think that it’s… _strange?_ ” Narcissa’s tiny voice creeps out, laden with poorly veiled uncertainty. She drops her face down as if she’s not sure that she wants to see Lily answer. “The two of us, _together,_ that is?”

Lily frowns, so deeply that it feels like her eyebrows have merged with her eyes. Her immediate instinct is to laugh, but she stamps it down. This seems poignant, bulky, as if the universe is anxious about her reply. Narcissa definitely is. Her expression is pinched and stormy, like she is readying for some kind of anguish.

It’s moments like this that make Lily wish that she could hit the pause button and work out what the fuck to say, but her brain seems to have liquified. She has the sense that she’s hopped onto one of those moving staircases at Hogwarts, climbing up with no bloody idea of where it’s going.

_“What?”_

_Wow,_ okay, so it’s not the most groundbreaking thing that she’s ever come out with. She balls her hands, scratching over her palms with her fingernails. A tide of red-hot marbles hurry down her throat. Narcissa’s face tells her everything that she needs to know: she’s monumentally botched this already.

_Shit._

She counts backwards from ten, trying to ease her throbbing heart. It’s useless. She only makes it to number six before she caves, needing a more direct approach. Seeing Narcissa’s drooping eyes and slumping posture is intolerable.

“Is this about that bastard making things difficult? Because I _swear_ that I will—”

“ _No. No,_ not at all, I just—I suppose…” Narcissa elaborates hastily, with a horrible tremor that makes Lily’s arteries feel like they are coagulating, “I can’t help but imagine that they must wonder why someone like—like _you,_ would want to be with someone like… _me._ ”

Narcissa’s fingers twiddle the fringe of Lily’s scarf, as if they are afraid to keep still. Against her better judgment, Lily does laugh, then, and the sound swirls up between them like a sunbeam. She rubs her hands over the tops of Narcissa’s arms, trying to warm her. _Deep breath._

“You're worried that they won’t understand why a brassy hellion would fall hook, line, and sinker for a ritzy prima donna?”

The right side of Narcissa’s lips quirks. _Jackpot._ “That’s not _quite_ what I—”

“You’re scared that once Tom finds out and runs his mouth the whole of the magical population is going to rally against a union between an uncouth court jester and a capricious femme fatale?” 

Lily knows that what she’s saying is partially true. It’s no coincidence that this conversation materialised only metres away from the entrance to the pub when they’ve already given half of the town an eyeful. Tom is a notorious gossip with unrestricted access to broadcasting to the masses and his ability to chat utter shit knows no bounds.

Narcissa gazes up through her lashes carefully, as if mulling over her words. “I’m simply nervous that once your friends disc—”

Lily kisses her, partly to shut her up, which proves to be wonderfully effective. Mostly because she’s so devastatingly gorgeous that it’s impossible to hold back any longer. The waxy lipstick that Lily sucks into her mouth tastes like cherries, sticky and tart. She can feel it melding to her teeth. A brief, thrilling thought that it is most likely _everywhere_ courses through her. Red, ruinous evidence that she is a drippy kook who just so happens to have the most beautiful woman on the planet by her side.

Narcissa shudders against her, and she seems downright flustered. Lily grins. “Darling, have you met Sirius? I think we can safely assume that all of my friends know already. They’re a bunch of lovable basket cases, but you’ll get used to them.”

The buttons on their coats clink as Lily eases her closer, resting their foreheads together. “I don’t give a _damn_ about what anyone else might say. If they don’t understand, that’s their problem,” Lily states, almost venomously, with as much conviction as she can summon. Her thumbs stroke along Narcissa’s cheekbones, as if hoping that the gesture might restore some colour.

Lily sweeps a strand of hair behind Narcissa’s ear, continuing on. “I don’t care whether or not it makes sense to anyone else. The way that I feel about you is…” The inside of her mouth goes dry, and she tries to clear her throat. She suspects that she might be crying, just a little bit. “I’ve never felt like this about anyone. I never thought that I _could_ feel like this, and I’ll happily let the whole world know. Okay?”

The silence seems to drag as Lily waits for Narcissa to speak. She feels like her stomach is doing a backflip. Eventually, Narcissa opens her mouth. “Okay,” she concedes, though her tone remains ambivalent.

It’s more than Lily can take. Grasping the nettle, she adopts a new tack. There’s nothing that Narcissa finds more uplifting or endearing than Lily humiliating herself, so she decides to use that to her advantage. _Here goes._

Lily sucks in a theatrical amount of oxygen, swivelling on her heels. At the most earsplitting level that she can manage, she belts out the truest thing that she knows at the top of her lungs, demanding the entire street’s attention.

_“I’m in love with Narcissa Black.”_

Narcissa’s gloved hand surges up, struggling to cover Lily’s lips and smother a repeat. _Bingo._ The rest of the words are muffled, which is a real pity. Somewhere, in the distance, an amused voice hollers, “Yeah, we _know,_ you daft prick,” back at her, which is honestly _so uncalled for_ but makes Lily’s heart feel fit to burst.

Narcissa is laughing, her eyes closed and nose crinkled and fists bunched into the lapels of Lily’s coat, and it inspires Lily’s mind to skip to corny things like hot chocolate by the hearth and candlelit bubble baths and two toothbrushes standing together in a little pot by her sink.

She’s a _sap._

“You’re such a Gryffindor hero,” Narcissa admonishes, though the delivery of the sentiment is less derogatory than she probably intends. Lily can feel Narcissa relaxing against her, her toned abdomen pressing along Lily’s like a hymn unfolding, and she watches the bow of her lips curving up into a small smile.

“Guilty as charged,” Lily chuckles, moulding her fingers against the arch of Narcissa’s back, “and I’ll fight for my Slytherin princess until the very end.”

Narcissa’s grin deepens, though she does make some attempt to groan at Lily's enthusiastic declaration, just to maintain their playful crossfire. Lily wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Nothing’s going to scare me off or change my mind, I promise,” Lily vows, meaning it with every shred of her being, “and I’ll tear anyone who tries to do so limb from limb.”

She wiggles her pinky finger between them in invitation, her chest swelling when Narcissa’s own wraps around it, squeezing firmly.

"I'm sure that you’ll triumph over all adversaries,” Narcissa teases, leaning up to kiss Lily’s temple. She slings her arms around Lily’s neck, skimming her icy nose along warm flesh. 

“Quite. There’s already one dead wizard walking somewhere out there whom I have no qualms about impaling with a rusty stake should I ever lay eyes on him. I can easily add more targets to my hit list.”

“My witch in shining armour,” Narcissa beams, echoing Lily’s own words from what seems like forever ago back to her. “Am I on this list?”

The skin around Narcissa’s eyes crimps and Lily is overcome by the thought that she wants to see those same tiny tracks becoming wrinkles, wants to bear witness to the decades streaking dark locks with grey and setting the ridges around her mouth like porcelain. She wants a lifetime of Narcissa’s frustrating, volcanic, _perfect_ everything.

“Yes, my darling, at the very top.” She shifts to the side, extending a hand out to Narcissa and willing her to take it. She nods towards The Leaky Cauldron. “Shall we?”

Long fingers curl around Lily’s, holding fast. Narcissa’s smile could start a revolution. 

_“We shall.”_


End file.
